Sassy New Me

"Life is an endless struggle full of frustrations and challenges, but eventually you find a hair stylist you like."  ~Author Unknown
 
Did I ever tell you that once I was a hair model?

I was home from college and out at the bars dancing around with my close cropped late 80s hair and there were these guys who were clearly not 'townies' trolling the dancefloor. They offered the cheesy line of "You know, you have great hair. Have you ever thought of being a model?" to all my friends with the flowing locks. They didn't even bother wasting that gem on me. But at the end of the night, when none of them would take them seriously, I volunteered. To be a hair model. At the Holiday Inn in Stevens Point. Could I be there on Sunday morning at 8am dressed all in black? You bet!

I remember going there and they taught us how to sashay down the runway (a.k.a. shuffleboard floor). Then we were ushered into suites where they started poking our heads and commenting about us as if we weren't in the room. Since I had so little hair to begin with they deemed me color worthy. They whipped out these swatch books and started planning their attack. At one point I noticed no less than 4 different shades they were pulling out, from mahogany to cinnamon, paprika and gold. I wondered aloud how that would look and they stop and stared at me as if they had just noticed that I was in the room.

Since color takes time, I was the first one up. I was escorted to the stage in front of about a hundred hairdressers from all across the state. There sat the usual fixtures from a salon: sink, chair with that cool pump-action dohickey, helmet blow dryer, combs and scissors and vats of gloppy color. But no mirror.

They proceeded to tag team me and apply the color all over my head while the guy with the microphone head gear talked about every step of the process. I had to sit and let it stew on my head under one of those helmet dryers while they did updos and funky cuts on all the other willing little lambs.

Ding! Finally the time was up for the reveal.

They rinsed and rinsed. I am sure that there was a river of many colors in that basin. Then they quickly blew my hair dry, added a little styling product. Et voila! They spun me around to face the waiting crowd.

There was a bit of a gasp and then applause. I sashayed across the stage as they told me to do. Results achieved.

As soon as I could I bolted off stage and ran to the suite to see the mirror. I passed many a girl with 'fantasy hair' piled high who gasped, yet not in a good way.

What I saw when I got to the bathroom shocked me.

Imagine if you will a patchwork of color. Every two inches was another color. I looked like I could play hide and seek in a pile of leaves and no one would find me.

I grabbed my coat and fled amid cries that the show was not finished and hurried home. I don't think I got the $20 they promised to pay me. So much for beer money.

Now my parents were not too keen on me doing this in the first place. But I was an adult and this was my choice. I am sure that they could hardly suppress their mirth and their 'itoldyousos' when I arrived home in tears.

I went through two boxes of my mother's Clairol Nice 'N' Easy Dark Brown Espresso that day in the laundry tub. It was just enough to take me from a pile o' leaves to a ginger head before I had to drive the two hours back to Madison.

Thank the Lord there is not one picture of this fateful day. But I bet your imaginations are vivid enough.

Ever felt like it was time for a change? Like you would welcome the "What Not To Wear" crew to come barging in your door and whisk you away to NYC where you would endure all manner of humiliation if it meant a new wardrobe, haircut and make-up kit?

I have been catching bits and pieces of those shows lately (what with the no computer and all... but I am back y'all! Still work to be done to really be 100%, but I am here! Yea!). I usually catch either the train wreck portion in the beginning or the big reveal and the fainting and crying at the end. But I know that the middle part is quite a struggle to get from point A to point B.

I guess I don't qualify for WNTW (just like my clutter is not enough for Miss Niecy Nash and Clean House to come swooping in). I suppose I should be grateful for that. But I still felt restless and mousy and so un-hip.

I had a hair appointment Wednesday. And I knew that my fabulous new stylist Michelle would be up for a style intervention.

I have this very thick and sort of unruly naturally curly dark brown hair. I like curls, really I do, but mine turn into more of an 'fro complete with kinky frizz. But not everywhere. Generally the top is frizzy, the bulk is wavy and the ends just stick straight out. It is like I have three heads of hair.

(Prepare yourself for the horror of the following pictures...You may want to have small children leave the room, and I wouldn't be drinking anything either, or it might end up spewing out your nose.)

While cleaning the garage in the past two weeks I unearthed my ID cards from school.

And yes, I keep crap like that. (Are you sure you don't want to visit me Miss Niecy?)


{Nice 'fro, dude. But it does distract from the braces, don't you think?}




{I am so happy to be back to school. This looks like a mug shot of a preppy criminal in 1983. Notice the polo collar standing at attention. I am sure there were pegged-leg pants down below complete with little white Keds shoes. Because I am fashionable like that. Bonus points to you if you know what that means and how to do it. And how stupid it made your legs look.}




{Ah...now there is a developing sense of style. This was the year of my first driver's license. I was channeling Annie Hall with my sweater vest and knit tie. I wish that I had kept that first drivers' license, but I cut it up as soon as I got my second one because of the doofus in the checkout line who refused to cash my check because she thought I was trying to use my BROTHER'S id. And I don't even have a brother!!!}



{Mullets 'r' Us}



Now I know that that swanky little picture that you see of me every where is pretty dynamite. That was taken around my 40th birthday and the only instruction I gave my photographer Sarah was "do not make me look 40." I think that she succeeded (although this summer at the Bead & Button I had someone tell me that they thought my picture made me look so old...like 40 or something...but I was so much younger looking in person. And I explained that when that picture was taken I was 40. I am not sure if I should be offended or delighted by that observation).

But I am 43 now. And I fear that there are only a few more years that I can get away with that picture.

I am not a fan of cameras pointing in my direction. Although some might say that I am photogenic, I have never liked the way I look on camera. I know. You can always find flaws that others don't see.


When I was young, high school and college aged, I had extremely short hair. I used to get my hair cut by the ROTC barber on campus at UW Madison (not buzz cut, but with shears!). Short hair is something that I am very good at. And I can rock it.



{Four plus years of college. Some of the best years of my life that I really don't remember. Too many Delta Upsilon and Sigma Chi frat parties (Hello, Kelly! Are you with me on that one? ;-).
That was the stage of the BIG earrings.
And can you believe that every single college ID (that I still have, thank you very much) has my entire SOCIAL SECURITY number on it? (I have digitally removed it. So stop looking for it!) I wonder if the uptick in identity theft was started in the late 80s, early 90s with college IDs that were so easily lost? I had to give out that number EVERY DAMN PLACE. How stupid is that?}



But then one day I decided I wanted to grow it out. And my sister was getting married and for once in my life, I wanted "fantasy" hair. I ended up with hair that was piled high on my head. There were little pearls  peeking out of each big curl on my head. It was lovely.

{Getting silly with too many bottles of wine at my sister's bachlorette party. That's me with the 'fantasy hair' trial run on the left, my mom Gail and my cute sister Kelly on the right. June 1997}

{Aren't we a sparkly couple? I loved that hair do with all the little pearls peeking out. And those flowers! Getting back into that dress would be ideal.. I think I should set that dress out as a goal...}

And then I had kids. And long hair was not too practical. So I chopped it all off again. But as they grew I let my hair grow. My kids do not recognize me without long hair. In fact, they don't believe that I ever had short hair, despite all the photographic evidence.



{1999 - Rose Bowl}

I am getting back to the point of wanting that sort of ease and no-fuss again.

{Tiny Dancer 2010 - She has a similar cut this year but my kids refused to let me take the firstdayofschool picture on the front porch today. So bummed ;-( Does that mean that since they got away with it this time I won't be able to do it again? I will be taking that picture...tomorrow ;-}

My darling daughter cut her tresses last year for Locks of Love. She eked out just barely enough inches to qualify and ended up with the cutest bob haircut. That is totally her look. This year she got her 'summer cut' (because she has to let her hair grown long for dance all year in order to have enough for a bun by April!) and it is and even more sassy and fun shape. Dang, that Michelle is good!

So Wednesday night when I went to have my 'witch hairs' covered, I decided that it was time. In addition to a nice rich shade of brown for fall, I picked out several hair cuts from the books and Michelle was able to transform me into a hipper version of myself. Her eyes lit up (that is just the sort of thing a hair stylist wants to hear). As she was cutting I started to feel a draft. Uh-oh. It is short in the front, with longer points just under my chin in the front. She styled it with loose curls by blow drying (how does she conquer that evil appliance?) and then a little flat ironing into soft waves. I feel so much lighter. I am not sure that I recognize myself.

When I got home, Tiny Dancer took one look at me and started shrieking, "NOOOOOOO! Not short hair!"

She was truly devastated.

Whatever.

She'll get over it. It is just hair, after all. It will grow back.

So since I figure that I won't look this fine tomorrow after I have slept on it, and precisely because I am inept with the tools and accoutrements of beauty application, especially the evil 'hair dryer' {shudder - that thing just turns my hair to frizz}, I figured that I needed to take a few pics of myself. Now before you start thinking that I sit around every day posing, you have to know that had my kids been up I would have demanded that one of them snap off a pic or two and leave it at that. But they are already snoring. And they have the first day of school tomorrow, so they were chomping at the bit to get to bed on time (not!). I thought that I would do it myself.
{Update: This morning Tiny Dancer came into my bathroom as I was re-curling the slept on locks (and it looks pretty darn good, if I do say so myself! But I have yet to wash it...) and she says, "See, Mom? Doesn't it feel good to have short hair that is so easy to take care of?" WHA? Just 12 hours before I had her running away in terror at my new 'do and now she is taking credit for it? Really? Pffftt... whatever! (Roll eyes here.)}

Do you know how hard it is? To take your own picture? How silly it makes you feel sitting in your arachnid-infested basement studio trying to smile but not too much and focus shots on your face rather than your chest while getting just enough light and trying to ignore the clutter and creative chaos all around you? I have been having fun with the Hipstamatic camera app on my daughter's iPod touch. I love this app. I spent the last few hours playing with it and not getting much else done (so much for focus). I am trying to find a more artsy and edgy head shot to put out there in the world, like on the blog or website, or as my avatar or something. Not that I want to get rid of the glamorous one that I have (I am still trying to live up to that one), but I guess it is time for something different, something more real life, and I love the patinas that this app gives to the images. (And yes, I am aware that in some I have cut my head off and in others all you can see is hair. Did I mention how hard it is to take your own picture with this app?)

I would love some feedback. (Be honest, but be kind. Okay?)

So now it is your turn...
Do you like my sassy new cut? Or are you running screaming from the room like my daughter?
I haven't perfected 'the pose' yet (it is really hard to take a picture of yourself with this app), but I am more or less experimenting with the various lens/film/flash combinations. Anything here grab you in terms of patina or pose? 
Should I retire my current head shot? 
Should I use something like this in certain places, like on my blog, Etsy shop, website, publications? Or should I just scrap these cheesy photos altogether? 
Do you think that I should cut it even shorter? 
What is your hair story?

Do tell!