Career hair

I might as well have an entirely different blog dedicated to my hair, what with the strife it's caused. Sure, it's cause for the occasional compliment and "I wish I had your hair!" but little do you know, oh innocent bystander, that my hair has the ability to eat faces with its fangs. It's a dreadful business, dealing with the monsters that grow out of my scalp.

Perhaps we should start at the beginning...always a positive place to start.

This is the story of Kira's hair. You have been warned. 

Back in the day, I was a bit of a tomboy. The only time I painted on my face was when I wanted to look like a cat. What annoyed me more than the inability to become a cat, was when hair got in my face. And so begins the pixie cut disaster of 1998. Fortunately, Facebook wasn't a thing at that time, so I'll spare you the pictures. But at that point I was convinced that the hairdresser could grow back hair because she was magical.

Apparently hair extensions weren't a thing yet either. 

2000 was a fantastic year for my hair. Once upon a time I had a normal thickness and bleach blonde ringlets and I could just hop out of bed and everything would fall into place. Sometimes I think my hair is a fine predictor of how chaotic the upcoming year will be.

Fast forward to 2009, when puberty decided to get the better of me.

This, combined with the fact that I had no eyebrows, combined with the fact that 15 years old just sucks, made for a not-so-happy time.

2010 began the period of time when I spent way too much money on appearance made an investment in myself. 10th grade sparked a wish to be a "whole new person," which, as everyone with two X chromosomes knows, starts with the dramatic haircut. This coincides with my idea that it is absolutely fine to bleach the shit out of my hair.

Do you know how long this look lasted? Until I washed it. Some investment that was. And yes, I realize the obnoxious smile is my Zoolander face.

Unless I wanted to get my hair chemically straightened twice a week, I'd have to brave the flat iron in order to look like something other than the creature from the Black Lagoon. And so, reaching 2012, as my roommates can attest, every morning we would wake up to the smell of burning hair. Sometimes this hair would take five hours of abuse magically turn different colors, such as black.

You might think this is the hair in its curly state. You would be wrong. At least Colorado had like 2% humidity.

By the time the hair reached the length that would require three hours of flat ironing and an entire bottle of conditioner (and the fact that my blond roots were threatening to eat the black dye), I realized two things: 1) At some point, I will no longer be able to run around taking classes, and will need a career. 2) I probably couldn't get a career while rocking the half dreads half skunk look.

And so, in 2013, we enter what I call "career hair." Really, I just spent a gazillion dollars to go back to how it looked in 10th grade, but shhhhhh. Sometimes I try to convince myself I'll somehow want to become a doctor because this career hair looks somewhat like Elliot Reid's from Scrubs. Then I realize needles freak me out.

By the time I'm actually ready to get a career, I'll probably actually have purple dreadlocks or something. But we can pretend normalcy is a thing I practice on occasion.

Namaste.