Fast forward to 1991. I am pregnant. My oldest son was born in September, so I was pregnant in Texas during the summer. I was unbelievably miserable. I had gained an enormous amount of weight, and my hair was to my shoulders.
I will never forget walking into a salon in Carrolton, Texas, sitting in the stylist chair, and announcing that I wanted my hair to be chopped off. A neckline cut. The stylist, whose face I forget, but whose response was so wise, “Are you sure you want to make this decision now? Why don’t you wait until after your pregnancy, and your hormones settle down?”
Yeah, I didn’t listen. I was miserable and had tunnel vision.
The only good thing I can say about the photos taken on the day of my C-Section, is that my lipstick looked fabulous.
It’s 2000. Regardless of photographic proof that I have no idea what to do with short hair, I once again had it cut neckline short again.
Nobody was throwing around the words, “biotin”, and “hair supplements” 17 years ago.
The photograph of me standing on the Great Wall of China in 2002, show that I was rocking a “full mushroom” as I grew it back out once again. If you like details, you will note that you have never, ever, seen my photograph of me with my sons on The Great Wall. That is how much I dislike my hair in those photos.
I don’t quite know when I started growing it out to one length, but by 2006, I was divorced, and understanding that hair played a large role in a woman’s sexuality. Men seemed to desire women with long hair.
Personally, I am not a fan of long hair. Try as I will, I cannot understand the big deal surrounding long hair. My hair has never gotten to far past my shoulders. I hear women bemoan the lack of length, and see extensions as expected wear, constantly. I try to understand the fascination with it, but I never have. I am not jealous of the long-haired woman, so I don’t know from where my disdain of it comes from. Maybe it’s from society’s adoration of long hair, and the feeling that you are less, because it’s something you do not possess. An attitude which incenses me, as many of societies beauty “rules” tend to do these days.
I can say without any hesitation, that I loved my hair in 2006. It was fabulous. Thankfully, I was confident enough to feel comfortable beginning my “homeless” hair style. Having it all one length made that very simple, and I didn’t own a curling iron, nor a flat iron. (flat irons weren’t a “thing” yet)
In the years leading up to 2012, I had ran the gamut regarding hair color. For the first time in my life, after my divorce, I had my hair highlighted. I was living in CA, and blonde is queen, and red not so popular then.
An overzealous, and partying hair stylist, over processed my hair to the point where it was destroyed. I remember my hair being destroyed, but men would tell me how beautiful I was as a blonde…
*I will note that I found a wonderful hair stylist named, Debbie, in a shop on Yosemite, in Manteca, CA after I took leave of my hot mess stylist.
*the finale is to come in Part III