the anti-breakup hair

When I broke up with my high school boyfriend (the first of three breakups with him, that is), I sliced my hair into a chin-length bob just in time for yearbook photos. I had some notion of looking like Neve Campbell circa Scream 2. Unfortunately, as my features are somewhat less delicate than hers, I more closely resembled a pre-nose job Long Island local news anchor.

After the first breakup with the college boyfriend, I went crawling back to my hometown stylist over spring break. "I'm so glad you're letting me do your college breakup hair!" he exclaimed. "It's so cyclical!" The resulting strawberry blonde highlights were an undeniable mistake on both of our parts, but the styling was all my fault. In my defense, a lot of girls bought three-pronged barrel curling irons in 2002.

I hadn't planned on doing breakup hair after losing my friend recently. Mostly this is because of the experiences described above, but mostly, any changes I've felt like making feel more like they're being brought on by other events. I've been spend more time attending events and going places where I can actually have fun with fashion, and after losing a little bit of weight from just flat not having time to eat any more, I want to mix it up a little bit. After all, this fall I finally bought (and wore!) skinny jeans. This is an achievement of fashion-- nay, history-- on par with Roo Moo-hyun crossing the DMZ line. Yes, they're technically out right now, but I already have some excellent high-waisted Navy vintage wide-legged jeans and damnit, skinny jeans were my fashion Everest.

Also, never underestimate the change in seasons to inspire change in our daily lives. No matter what weather.com says, it's autumn out there and and I simply cannot wear floaty linen circle skirts any longer. I'm ready for black tights and boots and my new sweater minidress and smudgy dark eyeliner. Usually when fall arrives I get all preppy and collegiate with baseball tees and football and little corduroy blazers and stripe-y scarves, but this year I've been taking my coffee black and listening to a lot of Charlotte Gainsbourg while walking around in my trench coat, even though it's really still too damn warm for trench coats. Basically, I want to be spending this autumn strolling down the Boulevard Saint-Michel in Narciso Rodriguez and Nanette Lepore, preferably carrying a tote with a baguette and some calla lilies engagingly peeking out the top. Hardly original, but there's a reason every girl has had this fantasy at one point or another.

I can't escape to Paris, even for a weekend, because I'm spending all my time and energy working and studying, and sadly my budget is keeping me more on the Zara end of the fashion spectrum. But tonight, unable to read another word of post-colonial deconstructionalism theory, I decided to put aside Jacques Derrida for a while in favor of Sophie Marceau:



Amazing what boredom, a change of seasons and a little pair of nail scissors can do. And for the record, it's not breakup hair. It's growing up bangs.