Some time last week, I decided I wanted to cut my hair short and make a donation to Locks of Love. If you aren't familar with the charitable organization, Locks of Love takes donations of hair, 10" in length or longer, and makes wigs for children suffering from medical hair loss who cannot afford a wig to wear. Judging by the massive 12" braid my hair stylist chopped off (and man, there was some serious sawing with those scissors!) my donation will be making more than one wig. Thick hair, man, and I had more than enough to give and not feel a loss. Plus, I like to think that soon there will be a (or more...) kid out there getting a fierce red wig that can make their day a little bit brighter.
My hair stylist kept remarking on how calm I was about the whole ordeal. "You're so chill!! I just cut off all your hair and you're like 'yeah, whatever'!!". But hey, this ain't my first rodeo. I cut my hair short (like, really short) when I started high school, and after not getting at all what I wanted that fateful day (brought it pictures of a pixie cut, left with a buzzed head. Sinead O'Connor style. FOR SERIOUS), I learned that hair doesn't matter much, and all mistakes as far as hair is concerned, are healed in time. And this go around, I won't even have to wear a hat for 3 months till those wounds heal. Because I LOVE my big, wavy, short red hair. Just call me Molly Ringwald.