I'm Growing Out My Pixie Cut And Now I Have 1990s Mom Hair

I am but a few chunky highlights away from shopping at my local Talbots.

Apr 19, 2013 at 2:30pm | Leave a comment

I am no stranger to growing out my hair. Since the first time I cut my hair short, during my sophomore year of high school, to now, I have grown out my hair, only to cut it off again, (only to grow it out and cut it off). That is a solid 20 years of cutting it all off/growing it out. 
 
With the short hair, I’ve been told that I’m “lucky” I can “pull it off” which makes me feel like I have some sort of duty to all of womanhood to be the girl with that one pixie cut that works on very few people.
 
The truth is, I really, really want long hair. And the truth is also that my hair is so dense, heavy, and bulky, and my head and facial features are so small, that once I grow my hair to say, past my shoulders, I become All Hair and No Somer.
 
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In the before times, a.k.a. freshman year of high school, 1992. 

 
Let’s just say that having long hair doesn’t do me any favors. And yet, here I am, growing out my short hair for probably the 10th time. Because: pigtails. And also, the grass really IS greener.
 
The worst part of growing out a short haircut is resisting the urge to just cut it all off. I’ve reached that temptation now, as my once-cute hair is now a weird, bulky mullet-like thing, with a lot of heaviness at the nape of my neck, and weird layers everywhere else. 
 
There is nothing to do at this point but suffer and let my hair do whatever it wants to do.
 
And do you know what my hair seems to want to do? Everything it would never do for me in the 1990s, when I used to spend hours per week styling, teasing, curling and hairspraying my non-compliant hair into something that resembled a brown helmet.
 
The 1990s are NOW, people. They are now. Happening via my hair.
 
 
A Twitterer commented that it looks a little like Maggie from Northern Exposure which is exactly the look I wanted when I was 16 and could never get. Better late than never, I say.
 
And here’s what my hair did the next day, with some gentle coaxing from a large barrel curling iron:
 
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No shame.

 
I am but a few chunky highlights away from shopping at my local Talbots. Not that there’s anything wrong with Talbots -- one indicator of my advanced age is that “grown up” stores like this are starting to look pretty appealing.
 
I have no interest in “looking my age” because 1) I don’t even know what that means and 2) that sounds boring.
 
But I definitely have the hair of a woman in her mid-30s, but it's the hair of a woman in her mid-30s from about 1992. In fact, my hair looks very similar to my mom’s hair from that time. And she would have been 37 back then -- the age I will be in just six short months. Coincidence? It’s like my hair Just Knows.
 
So I’m letting it be. I’m using some hairspray. Mom hair; don't care. At least until I cut it all off again.
 
Somer is tweeting about her hair: @somersherwood