The barber was my dreaded enemy as a child. For some reason I thought I looked incredibly stupid with short hair. It didn’t help that my only hair style for the first 10 years of my life was a buzz-cut. It also was mightily convenient for my parents that my next door neighbor was a barber. Pouting in the kitchen, wearing a plastic bag over my body, with more scattered across the tile to catch the falling fur.
Once I reached middle school, my dad told me one thing I had to respect. He said, “I can tell you to brush your teeth, take a bath, do your homework and listen to your mother, but I won’t ever tell you how to do your hair.” As my father grew up, he also didn’t have rules for his hair; it was past his shoulders when he was a teenager. Unfortunately, I didn’t get his straight hair gene passed on to me. When I grow my hair out past a few inches, it starts to try for a half-assed fro. It’s also almost completely untamable.
I’ve wanted to grow out my hair. I feel like if I gave it a year, my golden locks would actually weigh itself down enough to look pretty good, but the 12 plus months of horrible hair just isn’t worth it. I stick to a two on the sides and a inch on top. It’s easy and clean. What do you do? [via]
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