Sometimes, It’s Hard to be a Girl
I’ve never been great at the stereotypical girly stuff, at least where fashion is concerned. At nearly six feet tall, high heels are not my friends. Many of the “hot and popular” styles don’t look great on this body. I’ll nearly always choose comfort over trend.
(I’m really, really good at some stereotypically girly stuff. I cry at commercials. I can talk on the phone for hours. I love chocolate. Not to, um, perpetuate those stereotypes or anything…)
All of that said, I’m about to engage in true stereotype exploitation.
Yesterday, I had my hair cut. (This is a rare occurrence for me — I get my hair cut two or three times a year. See first paragraph, above.) The main reason for this shearing is that I’m getting new headshots taken next week.
Alas, I’m not sure my new haircut is the write length. It’s definitely the right shape (blunt cut, curling under a bit at the ends.) And it’s within an inch or two of where it should be. At the moment, it’s about a half-inch longer than shoulder-length. I think maybe it should be chin length.
I’m really, really bad at this type of thing. I might even have shed a few tears last night, frustrated by my inability to communicate what I wanted to the hairdresser (or, perhaps more realistically, to stick up for what I wanted.) And what I have might be perfect. (Today. Maybe not next week, when the pics are taken.)
But I figured out a solution. Tomorrow morning, I have my exercise class. And I have lots of girly friends in my exercise class. And I can ask them, in person, what they think. And they’ll tell me the truth, because that’s the kind of friends they are.
And if my hair is the wrong length, I’ll have a full week to get things fixed.
I bet you can’t *wait* to hear me angst about the headshots, huh?