I gave myself a quarantine haircut a few weeks back now because my hair was so thick and long and heavy I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m not exactly sure when I will feel safe going a hair salon in NYC yet, but, however near or far in the future that may be, I know I won’t be able to wait that long. Not in the sweltering, sticky, humid New York Summer. Ugh. When my hair was wet, I felt like a soggy labradoodle. NGL, probably smell like one, too. 😥
Today, I gave myself another quarantine haircut. My hair was so long before I cut it, my cautious chop didn’t look much shorter to me at all. The first time I did it, my hair felt pounds lighter. This time, sadly, I did an even worse job than before — it’s short enough to be noticeable at this point. Help.
But dang it is way too hot to have waist-long locks, especially when the middle is starting to resemble the tail of a greasy grey NYC subway rat. Fuhgeddaboutit!
Why did it take me all day today to cut my hair the second time, you ask? Every time I looked in the mirror, it still looked too long. I would wet it, trim it, and desperately try to make both sides even with my dull craft scissors.
I think that I’ve finally got the layers looking normal using my designer eye, and it is shorter, so that’s a load off my shoulders, literally. Heh.
Honestly, I don’t care how bad it looks. The rest of NYC was self-quarantined with me, and almost everyone I know has resorted to the quarantine cut by now.
Alls I know is this: the restaurants and bars are opening up again soon and my hair is long and healthy enough to create the illusion of a cute style. I know I should probably hit the salon up before I start going out for date night again, buuuuuut perhaps I can get away with this ‘do for a bit?
This is what my hair looked like before, and I will not be posting a picture of how it looks right now because I can’t handle that kind of judgement today.
Good luck taming your own manes, everybody!
The higher your hair, the closer you are to God.
– Ancient Midwestern Proverb