“if truth is beauty, how come no one has their hair done in the library?” // l. tomlin

throughout the years, i’ve been willing to sacrifice a lot for some strange ideal of beauty that i’ve got knocking around in my head. i’ve zapped, peeled, picked and prodded. and that’s just in reference to the small piece of real estate of my face.

instead of beauty sleep, i get up with the sun to make sure i have enough time to put on my face, (which reads rather ironic), and to get closer to the fire, to make sure i have time to do battle with my hair. and trust, it’s been a fierce fight. it’s the plight of the curly-haired girl.

it was long – and then it was cut VERY short. and then, at roughly the same time that my first spot appeared in the vicinity of my chin, that first lock of hair took a turn and became a kink. from the age of 19 to 26, with a very hot dryer pointed to my scalp, i dragged every single curl out of my hair. it didn’t matter that it wouldn’t keep, it wouldn’t matter that anything above 2% humidity would make it do a flip, i was determined that i would not have curly hair. i was adamant, i could get that perfect mod bob.

and then, one day – i was too tired to ever do it again – and i accepted the fact that my hair was as unruly as my sense of direction and occasionally, my humour. i still crave simple hair, you know, to be one of those girls who just washes ‘n goes. i’d like to think those girls don’t actually exist – except… i actually know a few. it’s really annoying.





→ source : image via skin of the night tumblr & vogue

→ source : image via l’extravagance tumblr

→ source : image via vanessa jackman

→ source : (what gorgeous hair! and shoes! and dress!) image via lolobu


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