Follicle Drama: The Musical

We’ve had this conversation before. But it’s been a while since I brought it up.

My hair.

I know. No one cares.

And this, in itself, actually, brings up something that I’ve really learned as I’ve gotten older: No one cares about anything.

No one cares about what you do or don’t do with your hair.
No one cares how hot or how cold you are.
No one cares how your day is going.
No one cares about how you think you got your headache.
No one cares where you are in your career. (…right?? Right?!)
No one cares who else was at that party when you’re retelling a story about the crazy thing that happened that one time.
And — this one is important– No one cares about what happened in your dream last night.

Exeption: Your mom and sometimes your dad. But mostly just when it’s about career stuff.

This may sound harsh. But it’s actually the most freeing thing in the world.

But anyway, back to my hair. The last time I made a bold hair move was in college. After graduation (which, let’s face it, is basically the dividing line between everything in my life. BG and PG) I had platinum blonde hair. I’d finally moved past the greatest mistake I’d ever made in college– bangs. And I’d learned to truly harness the Savannah humidity in my favor and rocked that natural curl like a true HBIC.

When I moved to Philly, short on funds and perhaps subconsciously making a greater statement regarding my emotional state at the time, I decided that I was going to finally let go of the 8 year phase of dying/chopping/discussing my hair every 3 months. It’s mildly embarrassing how seriously I took that decision. Changing my hair every 4 hours felt like a part of my identity that I was letting go of.

Enter my theory: No one cares.

They really don’t! I haven’t done a thing to my hair in over a year and no. body. cares. I feel that right now, my not doing something with my hair is almost as grand as a statement as buzzing it and dying it pink. My hair has never been this long or natural in my life! Sometimes, I don’t even brush it! It’s so anti-punk, that it’s punk, you know?

BUT! Lately…………. wait for it…… My Pinterest “Hair” board beckons and I feel the itch. The itch to grab a pair of scissors and have at it. Chop off INCHES. Then I have a moment of clarity and I know that 1. I always regret bangs 2. No matter how red my hair is, I’m not actually going to ever be Emma Stone and 3. I’m immensely curious what hair down to your butt cheeks feels like? Probably so cool.

But, like OJ Simpsons’s 2007 classic “If I Did It,” I can’t help but consider the possibilities……..





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