I have yet to meet a woman that's happy with her hair. Most women have a love-hate relationship with their own hair. Ask any woman about her hair and she will point out something wrong with it. It's too straight, too curly, too thick, too thin, too THIS, too THAT... you get the point. In the last few months, I've received several comments about how beautiful and healthy my long, black hair was and like any other woman I could not fight the internally-wired urges to criticize my hair.
Begin complaining-about-my-hair rant:
My hair is really thick, which makes it heavy. It's wavy in a non-pattern way - there's no rhyme or reason as to how it decides how to wave. Most people actually didn't know how long my hair was because I usually wear it up. Being so heavy AND wavy, with hot weather, it was incredibly annoying.
Okay, rant over.
So I grew out my hair for the wedding so I would have enough hair to curl in an updo. My hairdresser literally would not trim my bangs because she said it needed to be long enough to pin behind my ears. Of course, she was right. Post-wedding, I let it grow for a couple more inches so I would have enough to donate and enough to still look semi-adult age. :)
Awhile back, I heard about this organization called, "Locks of Love." This is their mission statement: Our mission is to return a sense of self, confidence and normalcy to children suffering from hair loss by utilizing donated ponytails to provide the highest quality hair prosthetics to financially disadvantaged children. The children receive hair prostheses free of charge or on a sliding scale, based on financial need. How awesome is that?!
The ironic thing about all of this was that right before I went to finally cut this hair that I've been complaining about for over a year, I actually started rationalizing that maybe it wasn't THAT BAD. That taking almost 45 minutes to flat iron it wasn't THAT BAD. Or the fact that it took hours to air dry, if it even did, wasn't THAT BAD. Or that I felt like Cousin It and not like a Tahitian beauty when my hair was down. Or that I would go through bottles of shampoo and conditioner like no other wasn't THAT BAD either. Luckily, I have a loving husband that helped to remind me of these daily annoyances.
Even though I was still fearing separation anxiety, I bit the bullet and finally got it cut. Here is how long my hair was to begin with. I didn't realize how long it was because it's been so long since I've flat-ironed it! This is the longest my hair has been my whole life.
My wonderful hairdresser put my hair into four ponytails, asked me if I was ready, and snipped them right off. Hair that took me almost three years to grow!
It was weird seeing my hair in ponytails unattached to my head. I really had no idea how long it was!
Walking out of the salon, I felt like I had a wig on. I had not had my hair this short since 2003, which I like to affectionately call the period of "Ol' Skool Jasmine." My hair used to be really short in my college days - so short that my hairdresser used to shave the hair near the nape of my neck.
This was when we were first dating. Probably in the first two months.
So without further ado, here's the new haircut!
The first couple of days was the hardest. I actually kind of missed my hair and felt a bit naked without it. I forgot to only use a little bit of shampoo. Every time I would put on a shirt, I would out of habit pull my hair out of the back of my shirt. I even had a twinge of regret about cutting it.
Two weeks later, I'm quite happy. Even though people keep telling me that I look like I'm 12, I suppose it's better than people saying I look like I'm 40. :)