pics - googleimages
I'm in the middle of growing out my hair. It's at that awkward stage, the not-quite-a-style stage, the stage where I normally march into a hairdressers, accost a stylist and demand they lop it back off again just so I feel less of a birds' nested mess. But not this time. This time I refuse to do so: I will have long hair by summer.
However, in the spirit of feeling uninspired, I've decided to ignore the images of long, tousled beachy waves (for now) and focus on the more attainable; the 'lob.' Every style icon and their great-aunt's had one, which is good enough for me...I'm always one to jump on any bandwagon that comes my way. Miroslava rocks her discreetly-dip-dyed locks, while Camilla, well, just wow. As I'm banned from any hair colouring for the next two months (a self imposed ban which, may I add, which I'm already regretting) perhaps a light trim will satisfy my hair-over urges. Blunten it off, make it sharper, loose the straggle.
Just please, Miss Stylist, no more than an inch. An inch is a long time of growth for my snail-paced locks, and I can't afford to lose any more than that - the beach is calling after all.