My friend Megan has recently posted about her hair, and my friend Kat is taunting everyone by making bold claims which she declines to prove, but which I am inclined to believe all the same (don’t tell). I am inspired by these events, especially Megan’s comment:
I love when you ignore it for a while and it becomes hopelessly uninspired and the only thing you can do with it is wear it in a ponytail or look like a tumbleweed.
So, to join the fun, I share with you my hair at its most tumbleweedy. Some time during my senior year in high school I decided, having never let it get longer than two or three inches, to see how long I could go without getting a haircut. This experiment lasted well into my freshman year of college, long enough to be immortalized on my university ID. Unless I am someday gripped by a burst of highly uncharacteristic impulsivity, this is likely the weirdest my hair will ever look. (Also, I will probably only have my hair for a few more years, so there’s that too. Maybe, a decade or more from now, I will sit alone late at night, stare at this photo, and sigh profoundly to myself.)