A lot has changed in a year: world conflicts, the senate majority, Lindsay Lohan’s rehab status (oh wait), but most importantly – my hair. Those cherished dead follicles that most every girl protects (or rather, harms) are essential to my well-being for any day. If my hair looks like crap, I feel like crap. I totally 100% believe the story from the Bible about Sampson’s hair being his strength. Once that chick cut it off, what happened? He was captured by his enemy who then gouged out his eyes and forced him into manual slave labor (thank you, private Christian middle school!).

Needless to say, I take my hair very seriously. Any haircut or dye job I get is agonized over and meditated on for days. Once the deed is done, it’s another week of roller coaster emotions for me. “I love it!” “UGH! I HATE IT!” “It’s still got a good length.” “OH MY GOD, NO ONE WEARS THEIR HAIR THIS SHORT!”

You get the picture.

My BFF from Leeds calls my constant state of conflict over my hair, “the big stress.” She would know. She has bleached, cut, and extended her hair more times than I can count. Actually, it was due to her prodding that I went mostly blonde last year, a huge step for a strawberry blonde like me who until then had only lightly highlighted my golden curls (and even that was tentatively as all my hair stylists swoon over my natural color and scowl when I ask them to change it). Read More »