Giving Up the Fight: Unruly Hair Edition

There are so many things I could write about these days. The unpacking, the "We really dragged these things across the country?" disbelief, the home updates that could have been eco-friendly but were not. The struggle to resist the temptation to run out and buy a zillion new things to deck out the house.

Those posts may come. But for now, let's tackle the ridiculous First World Problem of hating one's hair.

One of the unpleasant side effects of rocking gray hair is that gray hair is coarse and wiry. It is not shiny, it does not sparkle or gleam like the Pantene commercials, no matter what you slather into it. It squiggles in all directions from your scalp like a mess of lazy corkscrews. I have the added bonus of having hair that cannot collectively make up its mind about whether it is straight or a wavy mess.

I have been beating my hair into straight submission with an arsenal that includes a hair dryer, round brush, straightening iron, and all-natural hair balms. All that heat just antagonizes the angry mob, and I end up with crispy split ends and haircuts that never lay quite right. Ever.

So yesterday I decided to lay down my arsenal and surrender. I went to a new salon here in our neighborhood for the first time and told the stylist that I wanted a cut that would work FOR, rather than against my indecisive hair. Give me a Wavy Straight Asymmetrical Bob and Wispy Long Front Strands. With Bangs.

I got this:

I hate selfies. I really do

Friends, I think I will fight no more forever.

Moral of the story: Choose your battles. Or let your body do its thing. Or experience the joy of meeting a new stylist and seeing the look on her face when you encourage her to "Keep cutting! It will grow back. I'm not worried about it." and "Randomer is better! I don't care about even!" OK, maybe there is no moral.