Dramatic Much?

Before - smiling because of the good company, not because I'm wild about my unimpressive hairstyle.

So, let’s talk about one of my very favorite subjects: my hair.  I don’t mind admitting that I think about it a lot.  I mean, A LOT.  Part of the reason I don’t mind admitting this is that I believe most women are this way, on top of which, I believe many women have a lot of their identity tied up into their coif.  That’s why we can cry when we get some bad bangs (hi, Corie), why we can be described by that one physical feature (hi, Selah) and why we can spend hundreds of dollars on it every year (hi, everybody).  I have had very short hair for 8 of the last 10 years and only grew it out for roles when I was acting in college until last spring when I decided that it was time for long hair.  I think part of it was that I felt like I needed to have flowing locks to keep up with the beauties that inhabit Sweden.  And it may have been partly because everyone says that men like long hair and I wanted to make my man happy (of course, The Swede met and fell in love with me when I had short hair, but whatevs).  In any case, it took a year and a half of awkwardness and patience to get here and now all I can stand to do with it is put it in a ponytail.  What a waste.  And when I wear it down I sometimes catch myself in the mirror taking a step forward and may hair blowing behind me because it’s that fine and it makes me feel like the Cryptkeeper.  So after 45 minutes in the hairdresser's chair today the experimentent is over.  P.S. Sweden may very well be the only place in the world you can be in a packed hair salon and no one is saying a word.  Yes, it was an awkward 45 minutes, indeed.

After - not smiling because I look like a goober grinning this close up, not because I'm not
wild about my new, chic hairstyle.