I’ve spent the better part of two years growing out my hair, and truth be told, I’m can’t tell you why. Call it a case of the have-to’s, but I really did feel like I had to. Beginning around age fourteen I cut my long hair to above shoulder length and didn’t really look back. It went from kinda-short to wow-it’s-really-short to just awkwardly growing out. The one common factor in it all has been simple impatience. Getting past the uncomfortable middle growth between cuts is not for the faint of heart, and I was very, very faint.
Then I made a decision, again for reasons I can’t explain, to do it. To have long hair, at least once. It was tough, but a never ending supply of top knots and a upcoming wedding kept me courageous. Thank goodness for the ballerina bun trend, am I right? (Thanks also to Drano, without which I couldn’t have lived with my constantly clogging drains.)
But as you can see, on a rainy NYC night I paid a visit to Whittemore House, said goodbye, and left the long-hair-world behind. So, what’s say we meet here again in ten years for the next big cut? Great.