If, as they say, the eyes are the window to the soul, then perhaps the hair is the curtains to the window. They also say sex really starts with what’s in the head, but I contend it starts with what’s on it.
Hence, I blame my current lack of a dating life on my new haircut, which isn’t a hairstyle at all, but more like a hair syndrome. I call it my Asperger’s cut. I look like a smart person who just doesn’t get societal norms. My hair says, “Fuck subtle nuances!”
Basically when I look in the mirror it is saying “Fuck you, Kelly.” Oh and it has, but no man will.
I am not going to get laid now for at least six months. I’m off my game, preoccupied with this syndrome, and with syndromes there is no easy cure. You have to learn to live with a syndrome. I have rocked super short bangs before and like them. My bangs had grown out, and I decided to ask for thicker ones that are straight across, as opposed to the wispy, assymetrical ones I had that laid nicely to the left. As my stylist cut bluntly across, I was suddenly staring back at my kindergarten self—a time when my mother cut my bangs straight across, but I’m using the word “straight” very loosely. I am also using the word “mother” very loosely. At age five we are all like miniature mental patients anyhow, so it didn’t matter all that much then. There is no sexual component to hair then. We have less of it to even worry about.
As if that wasn’t bad enough—bad bangs are the leading cause of suicide—there is a huge problem with the back too. As my friend Sherry says, “There is a fine line between hip and shortbus.” Shortbus doesn’t get you any play, for sure. Men are suddenly giving me the eye on the street for completely different reasons than they usually do. It used to be they’d stare at my tits, now they never even get past my head.
Let me go on record as saying my hairdresser is awesome. I have been going to her for quite some time and I love her and the way she cuts. It was my crucial mistake this time, not hers. I asked for something way edgier. Apparently Asperger’s is edgy. It is in the news constantly. There is a model on “America’s Next Top Model” with it, and Augusten Burroughs’s brother just wrote his memoir about his life with it. Both, sadly, have better hair than I do. A child psychologist I know, Sarah, says, “Ironically, a kid with Asperger’s is the only one who wouldn’t hesitate to tell you how bad you really looked.”
And what about the nether regions? It’s not just women who need to worry about that. I dated a man who was otherwise well groomed and stylish, but the minute his pants came off I was suddenly trapped in a 1980s porno. He was shocked to know men trim down there. I started barraging him with articles on manscaping and the next time I saw him, he brandished a clipper from Duane Reade and let me have at it. I enjoyed it so much I honestly thought about placing an ad on Craiglist offering my manscaping services. I’d like to help men get a piece, one pelvis at a time. I’m part altruist, part horny asshole.
Men have the added obstacle in getting chicks, once they start sprouting hair in other, less traditional places. Chest hair might be sexy to some, but say “back hair” and there isn’t a woman alive who’ll be turned on. I fantasize about becoming a sort of “Bizarro Zorro” by convincing men that I’ll shave their back hair for them; again I could easily place a CL ad with my offer. I will shave their backs, but unbeknownst to them, will leave a “K” carved out of their wiry fur. Soon there will be a whole herd of men walking around New York City with Ks branded into them, without even knowing. Think of the hilarity that will ensue when one removes his shirt at the gym or in front of a new lover! Back hair branding will become the new tattoo.
Last night I drank way too much. Not by accident. I went out with every intention to get so drunk hair wouldn’t matter. The only way to get through this it to self-medicate. I have a bottle of Valium and a bigger bottle of tequila on my desk and plan on being in a haze for the next several months.
I’m not joking when I say that I am honestly considering doing a Britney and shaving it all off and starting over. The way I figure is that by the time Britney’s career comes back, I’ll have a great head of hair.
Hence, I blame my current lack of a dating life on my new haircut, which isn’t a hairstyle at all, but more like a hair syndrome. I call it my Asperger’s cut. I look like a smart person who just doesn’t get societal norms. My hair says, “Fuck subtle nuances!”
Basically when I look in the mirror it is saying “Fuck you, Kelly.” Oh and it has, but no man will.
I am not going to get laid now for at least six months. I’m off my game, preoccupied with this syndrome, and with syndromes there is no easy cure. You have to learn to live with a syndrome. I have rocked super short bangs before and like them. My bangs had grown out, and I decided to ask for thicker ones that are straight across, as opposed to the wispy, assymetrical ones I had that laid nicely to the left. As my stylist cut bluntly across, I was suddenly staring back at my kindergarten self—a time when my mother cut my bangs straight across, but I’m using the word “straight” very loosely. I am also using the word “mother” very loosely. At age five we are all like miniature mental patients anyhow, so it didn’t matter all that much then. There is no sexual component to hair then. We have less of it to even worry about.
As if that wasn’t bad enough—bad bangs are the leading cause of suicide—there is a huge problem with the back too. As my friend Sherry says, “There is a fine line between hip and shortbus.” Shortbus doesn’t get you any play, for sure. Men are suddenly giving me the eye on the street for completely different reasons than they usually do. It used to be they’d stare at my tits, now they never even get past my head.
Let me go on record as saying my hairdresser is awesome. I have been going to her for quite some time and I love her and the way she cuts. It was my crucial mistake this time, not hers. I asked for something way edgier. Apparently Asperger’s is edgy. It is in the news constantly. There is a model on “America’s Next Top Model” with it, and Augusten Burroughs’s brother just wrote his memoir about his life with it. Both, sadly, have better hair than I do. A child psychologist I know, Sarah, says, “Ironically, a kid with Asperger’s is the only one who wouldn’t hesitate to tell you how bad you really looked.”
And what about the nether regions? It’s not just women who need to worry about that. I dated a man who was otherwise well groomed and stylish, but the minute his pants came off I was suddenly trapped in a 1980s porno. He was shocked to know men trim down there. I started barraging him with articles on manscaping and the next time I saw him, he brandished a clipper from Duane Reade and let me have at it. I enjoyed it so much I honestly thought about placing an ad on Craiglist offering my manscaping services. I’d like to help men get a piece, one pelvis at a time. I’m part altruist, part horny asshole.
Men have the added obstacle in getting chicks, once they start sprouting hair in other, less traditional places. Chest hair might be sexy to some, but say “back hair” and there isn’t a woman alive who’ll be turned on. I fantasize about becoming a sort of “Bizarro Zorro” by convincing men that I’ll shave their back hair for them; again I could easily place a CL ad with my offer. I will shave their backs, but unbeknownst to them, will leave a “K” carved out of their wiry fur. Soon there will be a whole herd of men walking around New York City with Ks branded into them, without even knowing. Think of the hilarity that will ensue when one removes his shirt at the gym or in front of a new lover! Back hair branding will become the new tattoo.
Last night I drank way too much. Not by accident. I went out with every intention to get so drunk hair wouldn’t matter. The only way to get through this it to self-medicate. I have a bottle of Valium and a bigger bottle of tequila on my desk and plan on being in a haze for the next several months.
I’m not joking when I say that I am honestly considering doing a Britney and shaving it all off and starting over. The way I figure is that by the time Britney’s career comes back, I’ll have a great head of hair.
