A hair story

Illustration by Garance Dore.

Images via Just Jared

I have a love/hate relationship with my hair. I partly love it because it's big, it has personality and it is thick. My ponytails have a life of their own because there's more than 3 strands in it. It differentiates me from others. I do not have a fro but in a sea of flat ironed coif, mine stands out. I partly hate it because on most days, I cannot control it. It has a life of its own, making me look one day like Busy from Ready or Not, the other like Nathan Followill from Kings of Leon. Not great prospects. Yet again, on some rare occasions, I do have a Victoria's Secret Angel's mane, but let's not kid ourselves, those a few and far in between. So what's a girl to do? How can one come to terms with one's hair? Some people complain because there's are limp and flat. Some people complain because there's are frizzy and Helena Bonham-Carter's doppelganger. Uggh. Like any girl facing such dilemma, I usually put it in a bun. Because unlike some girls, I am completely unwilling to spend two hours everyday to straighten my hair out. I will do it occasionally but everyday? Neva! But with big hair comes big weight and after a few hours, I can no longer take it: my neck hurts and unleashed are my wild strands. So what is the moral of this story? I want Rachel Bilson's hair. She has some curls and yet it looks so damn good all the freakin' time. Today, I hate my hair. Can you tell?