Big Hair

Whenever I think of big hair an image of a Texan housewife from the eighties comes to mind. You know, the ones with neon pants, dangerously high heels designed only for standing and nails like eagle talons which are painted fuchsia or teal. If you think of women from John Waters films, or the neighbours in Tim Burton's Edward Scissorhands, then you are almost there. Just add another foot on their hair.

Unlike a lot of other women who have thick, flowing locks, my hair is actually quite fine. Not thin, because I have a fair amount of it, but fine. Not wispy. Not sparse. Just fine. There isn't a lot of meat to it.

Today one of my coworkers did this messy bouffant bun style on me. She needed to practice updos and I needed to feel a little pretty. I think the style turned out really well, considering my hair isn't all that long and it's fine. She was working with thread when she needed spaghetti. Or some other analogy that makes more sense. Alas, I am tired. It's been a long week. A long week of my brain not working properly, another thing I don't like. I mean, since when do I make mistakes? That's right, not bloody often.

Anyhow, after I took the gazillion bobby-pins out and let the tendrils fall, I had big hair. Not Texas big, because I simply don't have the follicle mass for that, but big for my standards. And I like it. It makes me feel powerful. Maybe the height of your hair is directly proportionate to the swagger in one's walk. Regardless, I wish I had saucy hair like this every day!

Big hair. Just don't care. And here are some pictures.

Being tortured in the chair

 The style

 The obligatory bathroom picture, a little later in the day, after a walk in the rain. 

 Just before taking all the pins out. No, I am not wearing a shirt. Shirts are overrated. 

All the bobby-pins

 BIG HAIR 

And everyone is going to dress like me, wait and see, when I'm a supermodel.