Before high school, my hair was plain. I did nothing exciting with it. It was black, because I was thoughtful and dark, a bit greasy because I was still a thoughtless adolescent, and plain and long, kept in a perpetual ponytail with side bangs.
Then high school hit, and I decided to change things up. The first thing we did was cut it shorter than it had been since I was a much smaller child. It was a bob, cut just around the jawline, with a blunt fringe that just touched my eyes. This worked well because at the time I wore contacts and the hair didn’t get into my glasses.
I was in love. Continue reading
If there’s one thing to know about me, other than that I write and that I love Star Wars, it’s probably that I have a compulsion to take my hair to extreme levels. I’m known at work by the customers because of my hair. People I’ve known all my life might see me one month with, say, long brown and orange curly hair, and the next month with dreadlocks. I’m a chameleon, basically. One friend’s mother, who I see on a fairly frequent basis, said that my hair is different every time she sees me.
I dyed it the first time when I was 8; I got blonde streaks that we ended up hating because the woman did a terrible job, and we dyed brown over top, that being my natural hair colour. The next time I dyed it, I was 12 and we dyed it black. And ever since then, it’s just been a constant stream of new hair ideas. Continue reading