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Thursday, 1st November, 2001 - 4:09pm

my beautiful hair - and the gruesome truth

Apparently I am the Personification of Good Hair.

Marn said so.

I would disagree of course, but who can argue with Marn?

I feel compelled, however, to tell the story behind this so-called hairalicious 'do:

My hair and I have never gotten along amiably. We've had our differences from the word go. We thought about getting divorced, but my hair didn't want to go through the pain again (it had already parted once).

But one thing I have never had is good hair. I could never get it to sit right. If I brushed it up, it fell down. If I brushed it down, it stuck up. If I brushed it left, it swung right, and if I brushed it right - can you guess what it did?

In fact, for the first 12 years of my life, it just grew out and down, with no sense of direction whatsoever.

I looked like Ringo Fucking Starr.

Then, at the age of 13, I started a four-year campaign to give it a part. A nice big straight one down the centre. Eventually it started to sit in the position I brushed it in (day after day after day), but it still hung rather straight - so rather than framing my face, it tended more to just hang limply either side of my forehead, like a pair of cheap curtains.

At the age of 17 I was really daring, and had a Caesar cut (where they cut it really short, and it's all brushed forward, and using a lot of ~ahem~ "product", they make little peaks). That was a dismal failure, which I should have probably foreseen, considering the Caesar cut didn't even look very good on Caesar.

So I let the Caesar cut grow out, and 10 months later I had a pony-tail (it grows very fast), which just made me look like a girl.

So after getting it cut short and trying (but always in vain) to find a style my hair would conform to, I noticed David Boreanaz. Thanks to his pioneering efforts, I discovered the wonder that is the spiky, scruffy, "I-don't-know-what-it's-doing-and-I-don't-care" look. This way, I could get a nice short spiky cut, and as it grows out, I can just let it follow it's own path. As long as I used my own weight in hair-wax to keep it directed skyward, I was fine.

Then one day, about three weeks ago, it decided it had had enough of this devil-may-care look. Without any prompting from me, in the space of one night, it just decided to part itself evenly down the right hand side. And ever since then, it has never been more agreeable. When I'm feeling formal, it sits perfectly still, when I'm in a more casual mood, my fringe will overhang down the left side of my forehead in a manner which can only be described as 'cheeky', possibly even 'rakish'.

I've never loved my hair more. And then, about a week ago, I meet Marn, and she thinks this is something I've done! As if it's something I've always had!

If only you knew the dark, dirty truth, Marn...

[cue Days Of Our Lives-esque zoom in]

...if only you knew.

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