The Haircut Blues
Let’s talk about haircuts.
Sometimes you walk away feeling fab. You hop in the car and are instantly bombarded with flirtations from the plumbers and IT specialists sitting next to you in traffic. They just can’t help but notice how shiny and special you are. Swish!
Other times, you get caught up in the story of how your hairdresser was offered a ride in Ron Jeremy’s Ferrari, and you don’t realize until it’s too late that your hair is a full three inches shorter than expected. It’s times like this when I wish life were more like Microsoft Word. Edit + Undo!
On Friday I went to Great Clips. In the following photo, I documented my feelings post-haircut:
So I was being a little over-dramatic. I don’t cut my hair often. It’s partially thanks to good conditioner but mostly thanks to being lazy and forgetful. In any event, I hadn’t had a trim since July. I was used to hair that fell past my shoulders into a jagged mess of dried split ends. I had the kind of non-haircut cut that let my hair be hair without making a strong statement on the matter. This new style—visible layers, chin-framing—was way too much for me. It was like I’d traded in a finicky but lovable Volvo for a Jeep. I wasn’t ready for off-roading. Though my previous hair spent most of its time just hangin’ around, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t miss it.
Ahh, sounds just like an old mopey boyfriend. Bruce Springsteen would be proud.
The next morning I felt experimental. Ponytails don’t work anymore, but I can do this:
Boop! I’ve regressed to second grade. I plan on celebrating my good fortune in plaid pajamas with Legos and Pop-tarts in front of A Bug’s Life.
Haircuts are weird. It’s like going from the mall around the corner to the giant megamallopolis 45 minutes away. You spend half the time looking for Sultan Wok and the other wondering if anyone shops at American Eagle anymore. Everything is the same, but different. Theoretically it could change your personality. A friend was thrown off when I showed up without my usual mane. To her, my new hair signaled that I was no longer the free spirit who forgot her cell phone on a three-day road trip. I was clean, well-groomed, and in control of my destiny. I probably even had a car charger.
Who was I without my long hair? Was I “kicky,” as mom put it? Every time I tried to do the ol’ ponytail-pull I was met with an uncomfortable and let-down feeling. It was like I was walking around in someone else’s body. I knew how to feel sexy with long hair. With short hair? Well…
We call this the “Saturday Night Struggle.”
But I’m not one to wallow in my woes. Sunday at work I received compliments from co-workers and friends, and my roommates continually reassured me that it looked great. It certainly felt better to see clean edges rather than white and broken tips at the end of my ‘do. Besides, we can all take comfort that even the worst haircuts will eventually grow out. So, until April, when I’ll wave the white flag and shave my head.
Intern Beth Schools Us On Celebrity Lunch Boxes
Other than that, there are boxes designed by Cameron Diaz, James Earl Jones, the Ting Tings and Martha Stewart. Check them out and let me know if I missed anything ridiculous.
Intern Beth Loves Nude Shoes
Maybe I watched too many episodes of Eureka’s Castle during my youth, but I put faith that somewhere inside us all there’s a bouncy and elastic technicolor creature patiently awaiting its chance to frolic through Rittenhouse square.
On dreary days that creature cries for something different, and that’s why I love United Nude’s “Fold” shoes. United Nude started as a collaboration between architects Rem Koolhaas and Galahad Clark and has grown to include designers, magazine editors, and photographers. The first shoe, “Mobius,” served as launchpad for a collection of one-piece shoewares.
It’s a pretty high-concept brand, and making fashion choices an intellectual commitment generally irks me. According to brand, wearing these shoes makes you “sexy in architecture.” What’s next? Should I be fashioning a line of Wonderbras made from highlighted copies of Ulysses? Sexy in literature?
Still, I hate heels—walking in them, standing in them, thinking about them, putting them on and taking them off—so a shoe made from a glorified rubber band sounds pretty sweet to me, and the colors and patterns are zany enough for Muppets to wear them. And you get to be the weird girl with the crazy shoes no one understands.
* Written by Elizabeth Fiedorek
Intern Beth On Board Games
Thanks to the economy and the upcoming season of family holiday get-togethers, we’ll all be staying in a lot more. Among my childhood memories that haven’t been spoiled with sour eggnog and Aunt Heidi’s bad perfume is game time. We Fiedoreks are a naturally competitive bunch, and watching my father battle my uncle over whether or not the word “part” is a derivation of “particular” (as Uncle John argued it, a question of intention, rather than grammar) always makes me warm and gooey inside. There’s nothing like tears and yelling to bring out the love.
In any event, board games make great winter entertainment, but not all are created equal. Here’s the good, the bad, and the ugly.
GOOD FUN
I’m partial to the old classics, like Cranium, Scattergories, and Taboo. Maybe even Pictionary, if I’m feeling particularly racy and Amanda, actress-in-training and my younger cousin, seems emotionally stable for the time being. Generally speaking, it’s more fun to be creative when most of the work is already done for you. That’s why I’m intrigued by Words of Wiz Dumb, a game of spouting half-baked, prepackaged advice. Players draw phrases (”Peace of mind is worth more than a piece of ___”) to fill in and everyone tries to guess who says what. You’ll be able to separate your mother’s advice from the pack by how much you hate everything about it.
I hate Monopoly, but there’s inevitably some scary seven-year-old who wants to run the world and insists. Commence recession-style trading, infighting, and rivalry! You can have Reading Railroad plus Waterworks, I just want Pennsylvania Avenue. That is soo not a fair trade…you’re getting a monopoly and I’m getting a glorified fountain! Remember last week when I helped you with the groceries? Green is my favorite color. I’ll give you 500 dollars. Dude, you’re broke!
Behold: Planet Earth Monopoly. Because if game time must be monopolized by a pre-pubescent board-game dictator, at least it should include fun facts.
BAD FUN
In True Colors, players draw cards with questions like “Who would lose a winning lottery ticket?” and “The world is coming to an end. Who is the last to realize this?” and vote on who’s most likely to do the awkward thing. Sounds fun enough, but not exactly the game to play with, say, your boyfriend’s parents. Save those true colors for another day when you’re not already worried about spilling wine on your blouse.
It’s a little frightening for a still-optimistic 22-year old like myself how many “sexy board games” are out there. My favorite must be Consenting Adults. As quoted from the description: “Is it Yes or No? How far will you go?” WHOA, NELLY. This is R-RATED. I am not in Kansas any more.
I’m all for sexual experimentation, and consent for that matter. But before involving a group of partygoers in the quest for intimacy, maybe try some lotion and candles or something slightly less…board game-ish?
The Partini board game manages to avoid any mention of how to actually play it, but the commercial is absurd enough to make me curious, and a little bit scared. I don’t like Martinis.
NOT FUN
Then there are games that seem slightly less fun than pulling out your eyelashes. Scruples is the game of moral dilemmas like “You e-mail your picture to a gorgeous person you met on the Internet. Do you mention that you gained thirty pounds since the picture was taken?”
Yes. While you’re at it, let them know you enjoy spending time picking scabs and rehashing old drama, agonizing over every stressful and complicated decision you’ve ever made and demanding that others help you with it. And you kick puppies.
* Written by Elizabeth Fiedorek
Intern Beth Teaches Us About Facial Hair
Some days I envy men. Pants are looser. No heels. They can pee standing up. And, perhaps most of all, they grow hair on their faces.
Imagine the possibilities Suggestive goatee trails! Over-the-shoulder-flippable beards! Curly mustachios! Beads!
Now, thanks to the folks at Mustaches for Kids, those who’ve never experimented with those pesky whiskers can grow one for the kids. M4K is an LA-based organization encouraging participants to grow their ’stache for children’s charities. A facial hair marathon, if you will. Participants solicit donations from friends and family, and once growing season is over, the money goes to causes like the Make-A-Wish Foundation and the Children’s Hospital of New Orleans.
Every grower must shave a minimum of once weekly for stache maintenance. The event concludes on January 10th with a “Stache Bash,” at which time participants will be lined up pageant-style (costumes encouraged) and one lucky stache-stard will be declared s/he with the “sweetest” mustache.
And yes, women can participate.
It isn’t wrong, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It’s FOR THE CHILDREN.
Interested parties should arrive clean-shaven to the first organizational meeting on December 15th at Good Dog, 224 S. 15th St. For more information, see www.m4kphiladelphia.org or email stacheitup@gmail.com.
*Post by Beth Fiedorek
From Beth, With Love
Do y’all know Beth? She’s our fan-freaking-tastic video intern. She spends her weekends talking to strangers about what they’re wearing and why and convincing them that they totally want to be filmed for philadelphiaweekly.com. She, also, had some free time this week and offers her thoughts on how to dress this weekend. To my utter dismay, embedding is disabled (redesign coming post-Turkey Day, I swear), but pretty please click through the video. Trust me. So worth it.