When you show pictures of a haircut you want, you should get it. This happens 10% of the time with most women. (Note: made- up statistic.) Still, I freaked when I saw my pixie cut. Thankfully, my hair guy assured me it would be fine once he styled it.
It’s still such an adjustment, but I love it. It’s the first time I’ve done something drastic to my appearance since, ever, if you don’t count the occasional red lip I sport unconvincingly.
So far, I’ve been self-conscious about my new hair, but my confidence level boosts about 20 percent everytime I get a compliment on my hair.
Mom says I look 16 instead of 12 now. I’m 19. Thanks for the moral fiber, ma. (My previous hairstyle was a shoulder-length shag, if you will.)
A few days ago, I went kayaking with my friends H and M. I was terrified. I can’t swim, but the water we were going in barely gets waves. My hysteria brought out the sassiness in me that day.
I freaked and cursed a bit. Okay, a lot, but I think the pixie is responsible for my assertiveness that day. I hope it stays that way. It’s time for my indecisiveness to exit stage left.