I am considering cutting my hair a lot shorter. “How could your hair possibly get shorter, Sizz?” you might ask. “Are you going to shave your head like Sinead O’Connor?! How 1990’s of you!” To which I would reply, “Hellz No!” Though I do love Sinead in all her freakiness (Last Day of Our Acquaintance- HELLO- fantastic song), I am not going that drastic. I just feel so. . . booooooring. Maybe it’s my period talking. I am breaking my own rule- no major decisions can be made while PMS-ing or menstruating. Hair is definitely in the category of “major decision.” (To be clear, “what to have for breakfast” is not.)
But the thing is, well there are two things actually… I worry that if I really cut a lot of hair off, I will look fatter. How dumb is that? It’s not like I will actually be any fatter. It’s not like this short hair style I already have is hiding my chub. As if. So that’s thing one and it’s completely neurotic. Thing two is that I am bored with my style overall. I am bored with my glasses, as cute as they are I’ve had them for 5 years. I am bored with the way I dress. I match too much. There is such a thing as overly-matching and I believe I have always suffered from it. Ask my Mom. Since I was a kid I needed the colors of my clothes to match shade to shade. At least now I have learned how to blend color palettes but seriously, my friend RayLo will tease me each day at work. “Oh! Look! The stitching in your shoes matches your necklace. Did you plan that?” To which I might retort while blushing, “Um, no? Ok, maybe I noticed but it wasn’t purposeful!”
I have a sickness.
I’ve always longed to be a punk rock kind of girl who didn’t give a fuck if her clothes had holes, or who could throw together an outfit with plaids and stripes and look chic. A chick with brightly and unnaturally colored hair who mixed vintage with her own flair. I used to live on the edge of this at one point. But now? I have none of that. Even my tattoo is hidden. I’ve got plenty of attitude, it’s just not reflected in my style.
I’m pretty sure this is a sign of a little pre-mid-life crisis freakout right before I turn 35 (in 8 days!). Do I do something drastic like donate most of my shitty wardrobe to the Goodwill and tell Streets (my hair stylist pal) to cut and color my hair to something drastic? Or do I just chill and not be such a spazmatron?
Tips? Ideas? Warnings?
“I’m open, you’re closed/Where I follow, you’ll go/I worry I won’t see your face/Light up again/Even the best fall down sometimes/Even the wrong words seem to rhyme/Out of the doubt that fills my mind/I somehow find/You and I collide. . .” -Collide, Howie Day