I love long hair, I really do, but a gal shouldn’t have to worry about her drain-clogging coif clearing the toilet seat when she drops trou. When locks are skimming the floor, it’s not a hairstyle as much as a chairstyle. Tie the ends to a tree and relax in your portable hammock.
Calf- or knee-length hair ain’t pretty—there's a good two feet of split ends going on down there—and neither are your deep-seeded neuroses. You’re wearing your insecurity, not on your sleeve, but on your head. Put your follicular folly in a ponytail, snip it off, and ship it off to Locks of Love. If you don’t, my fist will make your brown eyes black and blue.