When you’re preparing for a haircut, do you gather pictures to show your stylist? I do.
When I was a college student in New Mexico, I took this photo to a stylist:
Was it the most amazing, stylish hairstyle I’d ever seen in my life? Nay, but it looked feasible, and feasible is all I hope for. I came home looking like this:
I named the style “the Aging Rockstar” and loved it for ages.
(My keenest readers will recognize that noisy, polyester shirt from 2001. Some will even recognize that bathroom, which got waaaay more screen time than any ugly, public washroom deserves. Anything to avoid practicing, apparently.)
Last summer, I cut this picture of [actress whose name I’ve forgotten] out of a hair magazine and took it to a Pennsylvania stylist—
—who sent me home with this look, which you’ve seen:
Today, thoroughly fed up with my scraggly hair, I printed this photo from Google Images (source lost), slathered myself with sunscreen, and hiked to Salon Bliss for an overhaul:
Ready for the new look?
No, wait, that’s a total strike-out with the camera timer. As usual.
Look, it’s Rebekah the slightly stunned flapper/pageboy/Prince Valiant!
I was afraid the bangs would be a washout, but assumed the rest of the cut would be uneventful. In reality, I’m pleased with the bangs and unsure about the rest of my head. I wasn’t expecting such a blunt cut, such straight edges, such flared hair… but I’ll mess with it for a few days before fretting too much.
Let’s go in a little closer, first with a semi-flattering shot…
…and then in honor of Autumn’s post, I present a complete absence of Mirror Face:
Now you know what I really look like. If my subscriber list plummets suddenly, I’ll challenge you ALL to a duel.