Hair: O

I can only live with my hair out of my face. It doesn't even have to be held up and away with a verified hair rubber band--twistie ties will do. I am the happiest with nary a strand skittering across my cheekbones like a spider web.

I'm also a competitive SOB with this hair of mine, and our history of days when my hair thinks it will win, when it struggles to come unwound from the buns, headbands, barrettes and clips, are the reason I developed my eye hand coordination. As soon as my arms were able to reach up and behind my head, there has been no hair device that I can't manipulate. I am the captain and I will braid, French braid, serum gloss and VO5 to not lose my hold on the tress steering wheel.

My hair knows who's boss. I've got two hands and I am freakin' fantastic when it comes to hair taming. Aside from that, though, I am pretty ordinary.

But back to how badass I am when it comes to controlling the beast on my head that I have a love/hate relationship with. I love my hair long so much I can't cut it. It drives me crazy so much, I can't not wrap it.

If you're torn between the wild and the obedient like me, here's what I do so I can keep living with one foot in both follicular worlds:

 

 

Headband it. Be sure to have balloons in the background to cheer up the boarding school look.

 

Wrapit Trapit. *patent pending* I suggest predosing with Tylenol for the ponytail headache you know is coming.

 

 

The hat. Never be without a hat in your closet or on your head. Boom.

 

The civil war drummer boy. I make it look so much like a concussion wrap that no one dares ask me a thing about it.

The Thinker. Walk around all day, with your hand holding your hair up just like this, and I swear to God above, you will look like you just opened an invite from Mensa.

 

 

The Multi-Multi. The true beauty of this one is you can tell everyone you're pincurling for a big night out. Those that don't know you well will believe you since they have no idea you never go anywhere. Ever.

 

 

The Just Hide. Or lean in. Or press against. Disappear into people and your hair will follow along. 

 

I know what you're thinking by this point. The sheer genius of my determination to not be outwitted by my hair. I can't take any of the credit. I come from a long line of those who speak scarf.

 

 

As you see here, my father's hair doesn't even dare to quiver or boink or a spring from underneath his polka dot taming splendor.

 

What a legacy. I tell you, I make myself proud. 

 

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