I am a little obsessed with my hair and I talk about it a lot. I know this about myself so you can stop pretending that you don't notice. For 20 years, I hated my hair because I didn't know what to do with it. It was straight and flat and it made me crazy. Then, one fine day, I cut it all off. Only then did I realize that I was meant to have short hair and the shorter the better.
Since discovering this, my hair and I have been at peace. We have enjoyed candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach. I have indulged my hair with expensive products and protected it from dangers like wind and a child's touch.
We were happy...until I decided to grow my hair out just a bit.
Before we went to Portugal, I looked in the mirror at the spiky 'do I've been sporting for a few years and realized that I wanted a change. I also realized that I was starting to look like my mother. I'm sure that had nothing to do with my decision.
So, I went to my stylist and told her that I wanted to grow out the top of my hair and my bangs. I imagined that my bangs would eventually fall seductively over one eye and give me an air of mystery.
My hair was wild in Portugal. It doesn't like change and rebelled at every opportunity. When we returned, I announced to my family that I was going to get it all cut off but Zeca convinced me not to do that. She said, "Mama, I have an idea." Her idea was to shave the back and sides and then leave the front long so that I would look "cool". She was so persuasive that I followed her advice. This might not have been the best course of action.
Yesterday, I ran into a neighbor and she said, "I didn't recognize you. Your hair is different. It used to be so shiny and pretty."
The truth is that my hair is gonna do what it's gonna do. It has its own natural way of being.
So, the hair has to go. I don't what I'm going to do but rest assured that I'll tell you about it.