Getting the chop
Although the Push Journal is ultimately going to be about the creatives that are killing it, occasionally I'll get personal. I don't ever want Push to be faceless. That to me is a recipe for snore, and nobody wants that. It'll all make sense in the end, I promise.
It was definitely time for a chop - I'm the terrible person who gets her haircut about once a year, and my year was well and truly up.
I've had the same hairdresser for about 6 years. We've been through everything together - fringes, the time I decided to go brunette (WHY), more fringes (if it didn't work the first time, just assume it won't work ever).
With each, sometimes radical, request, Ben patiently guided me without forcing my hand. Poor guy. He even moved city when I did so he's stuck with me good and proper now.
My problem is that I have so much hair, I never know what to do with it. I remember a few years ago during the "French girl hair" phase requesting a sexily messy cut. Poor Ben had to inform me that it was simply impossible - I had enough hair for three French girls, so to create mess would mean chaos. Less Audrey Tatou, more Cher during her Afro years. Which is why I ended up shaving a whole side off. It's easier to deal with this way and so much cooler. You have no idea how hot it gets under this heap.
I'm finally coming to terms with what my hair is - messy (always), big (always) and impossible to tame (forever and ever and always). It's only taken me 24 years. So this time I decided to play with that. If I cut it short, and let it do what it really wants, ie. be massive and a total mess, then everybody wins. So after an Instagram conversation involving "will this look good on me? What about this?" Ben chopped it all off. Almost all of it.
So my head is even lighter than usual and I kind of like it.
It's been a change ridden month, and there's heaps more to come...