Hair

I have good hair in Texas. I often have pretty good hair—the curl and I living in harmony, neither of us trying to influence the other unduly—but my stats are better in Texas: better curl definition, better volume, better good hair days and more of them. The cut I gave myself in January is still kicking here in July, which for a short-haired person is a very long time, and I may indeed find myself with downright medium length hair before I am moved to trim it again.

Which is a shame, insofar as that will obviously delay the event of my first Texas haircut, but is frankly just as well as it will also delay my disappointment that I am not in fact the kind of person who gets adventurous haircuts in new places. A friend living in Nowhere, Maryland once visited me in Chicago  and asked where to go for a proper city haircut. I couldn't tell her. I had gone for years still having mine cut in California.

You know that scene in Roman Holiday when Audrey Hepburn gets a hair cut and it changes her because now she is part of the city? Over the years that scene has brought me thisclose to having an Athens haircut or a Seoul style or a New York do, but because I have no faith that curls have all that many options, I just excuse myself from the discovery of yet another hairdresser who's not all that comfortable with the special needs of curly hair. I did finally get someone to cut my hair in Chicago before I left for other cities, but they were cuts that gave me confidence I could do at least as well myself. Still, if any city can win me over to a new person cutting my hair, Dallas has both a legendary hair culture and a place with a neon sign I pass on my way to get groceries that says "Rocket Science Salon." I'll think about it;  probably as I pass the shears across the back of my neck and let red curls fall on our bathroom floor.