Bangs, fringe, breakage — whatever you call it, it'll fit in some butterfly clips.
I prefer to have this crazy-long hair that just needs a little serum in the ends and a whatever attitude about being seen in public while it air dries to look good. My hair isn't particularly thick at the individual strand level, but there's a ton of it, and it has a natural wave--some days more pronounced than others.
As such, hair cuts are few and far between and only happen when I start losing it over the condition of the ends and the extra weight that flattens my roots against my skull, making me look like I stepped out of a filthy hippie commune to go braid a rug and milk goats and brainwash Elizabeth Olsen. No, I stepped out of my filthy Bushwick apartment and volume is the only thing on my agenda.
I took the liberty of cutting off a few inches of crunchy ends a couple of weeks ago (as I was leaving for work, onto my lap and shoes, still haven't swept), but was finally able to get in to see a professional yesterday. I like to test the waters and suggest that my stylist do "whatever, I'm open to anything." And they ALWAYS suggest cutting off 1-3 inches of dead ends, and adding long layers throughout, throwing in a couple of minutely snipped face-framing pieces not much shorter than the shortest layers elsewhere. They all, "Like the length," and the layers will help, "add some volume and get some of the bulk out through here." **motions around bottom half of hair flopped over the front of the smock**
Which leads me to believe that this my God-intended hair style. Or this is the vanilla-flavored cut that all stylists are taught to suggest to chicks that say, "whatever, I'm open to anything," so as not to give them something too drastic resulting in an already fragile girl who can't even get it together enough outside of work responsibilities to clean her apartment or go grocery shopping, surviving on comped juice cleanses and mini Twix bars from the greeting jar at the office reception desk, imploding and throwing herself into oncoming traffic upon catching her full-bodied reflection with a blunt-banged bob outside of the salon. Bummer, too, because the only oncoming traffic on a Manhattan side street at 3pm was a Seamless delivery dude on a moped, so now she just has Pad Thai all over her Celine mini shirt and has to hobble to the train with a broken strap on her It-Girl For OC sandals which weren't even that comfortable anyway.
I'm wearing a vintage plaid maxi dress and Marc Jacobs sandals--my first ever designer purchase at 16. I liked the tassels. Still do.
Keeping with the hair theme, today I need to get rid of this awesome Bumble and bumble Surf line shampoo and conditioner.
Seflie till you barf (don't barf, you'll get puffy), be over 18 and in the US. (No I don't hate everybody outside of the US--although I am super nationalistic. I might even go to a state park or monument today!)
Congrats mega cutie SophiaGold. Totally into your look. Totally into the great lighting in your place. You win toothpaste.