Queen Michelle's hair had been exceptionally for years, perhaps long enough to reach her jeans waistband. Maybe she'll confirm this. I'm not sure of her reasons, but sometime recently, she cut off two feet of hair. Two feet! It's now somewhere below her collarbones.
My hair was down to my lower back until late 2009. Then I decided it was too long for a woman my age (I was 43), and I got about a foot cut off. Yeah, that was a great idea. Who cares how long your hair is when you're 43?
The cut I got was decidedly lackluster and mumsy, but I lived with it. Soon after that, I went to New York, and as a result of serendipitous and benevolent arrangements made by WendyB, I had my hair cut in her hallway by the lovely and talented Julie Matos, who styles WendyB's hair for special events. I took a picture of my haircut that day, and I can't find it. It was the best haircut I've ever had—Julie took my hair from mumsy to yumsy.
Even as Julie was working her magic, I knew her housecall range wasn't likely to include California. Gulp.
With that grim realization, I returned home to my California stylist, and the cut's direction changed, as it was bound to do with someone else at the shears. I tried to accept the new direction. I kept the same basic style, a just-below-chin-length bob for a few months. But it just wasn't the same. The edge and uniqueness was lost, and with it my interest in the cut. I was ruined for anybody but Julie. Within months, I succumbed to frustration, and I told my stylist I wanted "big change." A bog-standard bob doesn't allow for much change, but he did what he could. He cropped me about as short as is tolerable. He did a great cut (photo, below left), but in retrospect, I realize we took it too far. I had made a mistake. That day I knew I wouldn't cut my hair again until further notice.
|Circa March, 2010 (left); Mid 2011 (center); Februrary 2012 (right)|
When she was in the chair getting a trim, Queen Michelle Tweeted that cutting her hair had been a mistake, and that she was growing her hair out. I understood that. I didn't think cutting my hair was a mistake when Julie cut it, but I was wishing for longer hair after just a months of not having access to her cutting skills. So after my wacky experiment with the Shortest.Bob.Ever, I am on a mission to grow my hair out. Same with Queen Michelle.
After some commiseration, Queen Michelle and I have agreed to a Hair Growth Watch, wherein we will be each others' support if we are ever tempted to chop our locks. We have chosen a goal of chest-length for our hair. Mine is past my collarbones, but it seems as if it has been the same length forever. I'm forcing myself to be patient, and it's not easy. I want it long now. Maybe I have a case of "grass is greener," and I assume I'll be happy with longer hair. But if I ever get to the point where I can't resist the temptation to get a serious haircut, I'll buy a ticket to New York, and book an appointment with Julie. Then I'll lose my return ticket.