Identity, wrapped up.

Disclaimer: The following post contains random acts of narcissistic griping.


So for all that no one can see it, it’s pretty amazing how much of my identity is wrapped up in my hair. I got a botched dye job months ago in pursuit of the trendy “ombre” look and it looked absolutely horrible, The transition down the strands of my usual dark locks to blonde (yes, I know, what was I thinking)  was about as subtle as Elton John. 

So, I cut it all off. And subsequently got super depressed about my hair. 

I mean, it’s just hair, right? I cut it, it grows back. But I looked so different without long hair. I wake up, look in the mirror, inspect my desi ‘fro and think, ‘damn girl, you fugly!’

And now, of course, is my usual end-of-the-semester-growing-out-my-eyebrows phase.I leave my tormented eyebrows alone until just before the start of spring semester when I get them freshly threaded. So on top of mourning my short hair I have to contend with bushy eyebrows. GOD MY LIFE IS SO HARD. 

Last night I had another dream that my hair was long. Le sigh. 

At least now it’s long enough that I can tie it back and no strands escape. I should be good in another six months and completely content in a year. iA. 

I’m never dyeing or cutting my hair again! I love my hair I love my hair I love my hair. 

It’s growing back in quite healthy I have to say. It’s difficult to keep the flat iron away but so far I’ve been resisting.