My hair is a sprawling nest of endless wires that lashes out in angst but fuzzes and fizzles under pressure. Like me, my hair is wild and unyielding, or at least the person that I want to be. More likely my hair is like me because it is messy and stubborn, not one to be trapped into a style and will break free from restraints even if they are helpful.
I cannot seem to trap my hair, beneath hair slides and bobby pins the way other women can. Those ladies with the luscious locks than can wear sleek styles and look like Audrey Hepburn or the girls that can scrape their hair into a loose pony tail and look classically lovely: why can’t my hair do this? Instead i’m left looking like a severe headmistress or a tomboy.
My mother always told me ‘you are your hair’ and I never really realised while growing up that this was actually a really mean thing to say. I know how she meant it (i think), i guess she was trying to tell me I looked nice with longer hair yet at the same time instilling in a small child that she can only be worth something because of her hair: parents really do fill you with the faults they had eh. Perhaps this also helped with my absolute dread of going to a hair dressers .Which reminds me I really should go get my hair cut, it has after all been a few years now…
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