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In Defense of My Existence

13 June 2005

don't mess with the tress

Boyfriend is a hair stylist.

This fact comes in handy when confronted with legions of banal hipsters. In a showdown between their modish brand of metrosexuality and my own punk-informed take on queer fabulous, Boyfriend is my secret weapon:

"So, what does your boyfriend do?" they ask smug and cocksure (cock-confused?).

"He does..."

(My eyes diminish into a sultry squint. My mouth turns into a sneer as my cheek spasms. I am so good, bad, and ugly!)


Unable to handle the intense power of such grand marveliciousness, vapid eyes spontaneously combust igniting shaggy cuts and faux-hawks saturated in
Bed Head and Bumble and Bumble. Flames envelop the once mindless, now lifeless bodies as the desolate street soon takes on an odor best described as the burning contents of a Diesel store...

The benefits of a hair stylist boyfriend go far beyond battling a mob of Jude Law wannabes. As one who often went months between haircuts--home-trimming unruly sideburns, slicing off tendrils of lengthening back hair that threaten one's reputation with a mullet--I appreciate the relative regularity with which my 'do now stays properly coifed (I think about product in ways I never thought to before). Better yet, my hair looks GOOD! This is not only due to Boyfriend's training, natural skill, and impeccable taste, but is ultimately a result of mutual understanding, intimacy, and our romantic bond. I know that regardless of how inane or experimental I decide my hair should be, Boyfriend will pull it off briliantly. (All this after weeks of being reminded of how badly I need a cut. [see the first sentence of this paragraph])

And of course there's color. I love playing with color but, unfortunately, the whole process had become tiresome. Black, Brown, and Blond are so last century. I did the rainbow spectrum last decade; green was once my signature look, but after awhile it started to feel like the mold that shares its hue. What to do? Stay with my natural color? But that gets so boring! A change of perspective was sorely needed.

Saturday night we did a cut and color: aubergine with wisps of blond. My hair was previously silver with blue highlights. Consequently the purples were lighter and textured, almost red in some spots, deep eggplant in others. The bits of blond added a delicate trim to the tops and sides. The effect was beautiful. A friend commented: "It looks like a dried rose petal!" That's it! Why color your hair when you can concept it?? Never again do I want red hair or blue hair or canary yellow hair. I want rose petals and twilight skies and canary feathers. Screw silver! I want chrome!!

So the next time you come into contact with a horde of Trendkillers, not to worry! Just flash those pearly whites and kill them with those cooler-than-you locks... or is that a California roll on your head?

(Disclaimer: The writer of this blog has been known to put far too much Bed Head on his hair, loves the pair of Diesel shoes he and Boyfriend found at Nordstrom Rack, and was brought to tears by the movie Cold Mountain.)


  • Can't wait to see the hair, my dear.

    <---she whose hair is currently darkest night (not black, mind you) with hints of the dawn approaching (not my roots showing).


    By Blogger Zen Angel, at 5:42 PM PDT  

  • It's been two weeks, love. I'm more of a cranberry bog at dusk now.

    By Blogger Fizz, at 7:00 PM PDT  

  • No...it's a Sloe Gin Fizz!


    By Blogger Zen Angel, at 11:39 PM PDT  

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