For the past six months or so, I’ve had really good hair. My favourite ever hair I’ve ever had, if I’m honest. And that’s saying something, because I’ve had a lot of hair.
Yes, it looks good on my head, and gets me lots of compliments, and that’s really great. But I’ve had hair that’s done that before – like the bright red hair with the heavy fringe, and the beehive hair, and the wavy bob.
All that hair though, wasn’t anywhere near as good as the Cut of Joy. Because that hair – the Before Joy hair – took a buttload of effort, and had the potential to go horribly, horribly wrong. The beehive could be lopsided, the red could fade to pink and clash with my face, and the waves could go rogue and leave me with one strange flicky bit on the front right that would not do what it was meant to no matter how hard I tried to force it (and it was always the front right).
But the Cut of Joy has not been like that. It has had magical, ridiculous, self-styling properties. I’ve just had to wash it, blindly point a hairdryer at it, and then put a bit of hairspray on it. It’s such an imprecise art that I don’t even need to look in the mirror while doing it. And I definitely haven’t had to go anywhere near a brush in months. Quite frankly, I’ve only bothered drying it because it’s been cold out in the mornings until very, very recently and I’ve developed a weird fear that my hair’s going to freeze.
And still, people who I’ve not seen since the advent of the Cut of Joy stop me in the office to tell me how good my hair is.
But now the Cut of Joy is going to go away. Because there are two problems with it; it’s quite short, and it’s quite messy. Ordinarily, these things are not issues. But about two months ago my Farthing Wood Friend proposed, and now I need/want to have bridal hair.
Admittedly, I have not yet worked out what on earth bridal hair will look like on me. I do not know if it will be up, or down, or somewhere in the middle. I don’t know if it will be straight or wavy (although if the latter, I hope it doesn’t go rogue). I’ve promised my Dad that it’ll be natural colour, but that’s about it. Other than that, I’m entirely clueless.
And I know I could keep my hair short and do something exciting with a statement headpiece, but I don’t think I’m really a statement headpiece kind of girl. Or if I’ll wear a statement headpiece enabling dress. Or if actually, all a statement headpiece would do is draw attention to the fact that I’ve got a freakishly massive head.
So I’ve decided to grow my hair, because until I’ve made a decision I should probably make sure I’ve still got options. It’s the same kind of logic that led me to briefly attempt maths A Level; I was keeping my options open then, too.
Perhaps this attempt will go a similar way, but instead of quitting an A Level in the middle of a lesson I’ll find myself running back to the hairdressers in the middle of the wedding planning because I JUST CAN’T TAKE MY STUPID HAIR ANYMORE AND I DON’T CARE IF EVERYONE KNOWS HOW BIG MY HEAD IS. But unless I attempt to suffer through the indignity of the mullet phase, and the utter reliance on hair pins, and the hours spent staring with envy at people who don’t have stupid ugly growing-out hair, then I won’t even have the option of doing that. I’ll just have the one option; slightly wild hair that probably doesn’t go with a wedding dress.
Besides which, I hear Babyliss have just launched an exciting new magic hair curler which might even have the power to defeat that rogue wave. And if that isn’t a reason to grow your hair, I don’t know what is.