I usually keep my thick brown hair really long, hanging an inch or two past my bra strap. And I’ll wear it long for a few years and then, always on impulse, I’ll have it cut short.
Back in 2003, I woke up one morning with the urge for really short hair. I got lucky. Someone had canceled their appointment with Remi at Molecule, who the Washingtonian had dubbed the best short hair stylist in the city. An hour after walking in, my locks were 14 inches shorter. I loved the super-short sassy cut.
But then I got tired of short and let it grow out. Until this morning.
I woke up with my hair wound in the topknot I’d been wearing to sleep for the last four months. As I started to brush it out and pull it back into a ponytail, I decided I was tired of long. I phoned Norbert (my new favorite salon) and got lucky. Mario could squeeze me in between coloring appointments.
I strolled in at 2:00pm and an hour later, with five inches of hair strewn on the floor around me, I glanced into the mirror and grinned.
I have friends who flip through countless hair magazines looking for the perfect cut, then hem and haw before finally making an appointment. I’m at the other end of the spectrum… I make the most drastic changes to my “style” on a whim. What does that say about me?