So yeah, I was halfway through a post on private space and identity when my Monthly Sorrows grabbed me by the uterus and left me crouching, shivering and naked in a dark corner. Suffice it to say that I've watched about 4,000 pixiwoo tutorials today with a hot laptop on my lower abdomen, moaning softly while glued to elaborate explications of sparkly eyeshadow application. Fauxhawk has been checking my ears periodically for brain leakage and has declared me officially lobotomized.
So more on all that high minded crap I started posting about later - let's talk about hair. And not just because I can't think straight, but because this is really important. First: EYEBROWS. Can we please stop plucking them into skinny anemic lines? Those little penciled-in apostrophes really depress me when the alternative is a decidedly luscious and sexy bold brow. Think Sophia Loren - or the latest Anthropologie campaign:
Second: HAIRDIDS. I am officially fatigued by ironed-straight hair and Victoria's Secret tousled waves.* WE GET IT, IT'S SEXY. Now that the world is saturated with Kim Kardiashian look-alikes, let's move on to something different, shall we? Take the picture above, for example. Forget the clothes for sec (although that's a great top) - check out her 'do. Lady looks like she's just taken a two hour "lunch meeting" with a "business associate." If that's not sexy, I don't know what is.
Here she is again, with a touch of rockabilly. The Lord loves a pompadour, don't you know.
And now again as a modern day Gibson Girl - classic, but a tiny bit dangerous.
As soon as I recover, I'm digging out my rat-tail comb, a can of Elnett, and going to town.
*Which, by the way, would be a vast improvement on what I've got going on now, which is a non-descript transition haircut with frizzy bits popping up all over the joint.