Sure, it all starts out innocently enough. You have cute, naturally wavy strawberry blonde hair, rosy cheeks and a stunning patchwork jumper in that yellow/brown combo that all the kids are so keen on these days.
The world is your freaking oyster. You totally rule Ms. Mattson's kindergarten class. No one else cuts and glues construction paper with such precision and finesse. And unlike that one odd little girl in your class that seems to perpetually have her finger in her nose- you don't even like the taste of glue.
Then one day- you need a haircut, and Mom is too busy to take you so she sends you along with Dad to the Lumberjack mall in Cloquet, MN. Dad seems to be very busy as well (he mumbled something about some place called a "liquor store"), so he drops you off with some cash and instructions to "just tell them how you want it". This is an awesome responsibility for a 6 year-old- a responsibility you take proudly. "I won't let you down, Dad!"
Unfortunately, saying "I want it reeeeal short!" to the girls at Regis Salon means you look like this for a few months:
(Yeah- that butterfly stick pin really pulls the whole look together, I think. And you can't tell- but this thing I'm wearing? Yup- it's a jumpsuit. I seemed to really like the comfort and ease of one-piece dressing as a youth.)
Flash forward about 6 years...
Family portrait time!
Who doesn't love posing with Mom, Dad and the siblings in order to capture that one special moment that says "Hey! We're a family and we love having our picture taken together, dammit!"
Though, this particular picture seems to be saying, "Hey! I just discovered curling irons and ABC after-school specials! Let's go roller skating this weekend- I need a chance to wear my new rainbow shirt! I can't wait to start menstruating!"
A few more years...
Now you're cool. Oh. Yeah.
You have an Aqua Net budget at this stage of your life, as you seem to be going through a can of it a week. This single item constitutes roughly 25% of your weekly allowance. Following in a close second is blue nail polish and Little Debbie Nutty Bars.
You rebelled against the big-haired rocker girls in my school by becoming...
An even bigger-haired new-waver wannabe!
Hey man- Frankie say "Relax!"
Yes- this is a "Dance Naked" t-shirt. Yes, those are checkerboard walls and curtains.
Then there was the unfortunate incident wherein the pubic hair of a 70's porn star took your head hostage. Your family couldn't come up with the ransom money for about a year, so you learned to just smile through your pain.
Once Bushwana VonPuberstein got her money and went on her merry way, your options were finally open! Now you could finally let the real "you" out.
Turns out, the "real you" was Grace Jones' younger albino sister.
Oh! Hey- remember that time you joined the Blind Miniature Golfer's tour? You all sure were fun to watch, but the 9-hour rounds were a bit...much.
That was nice how you sculpted such a lovely hair helmet to protect yourself from stray balls. Cute shoes though. Very "Mary Jane goes Goth."
I loved when we all did that whole "Urban Pirate" thing.
Remember how you had all sorts of ruffly shirts in different colors? Remember how you ALWAYS wore them with leggings or jeans that were ALWAYS tucked into your knee-high black suede boots from Baker's? Remember how this was the night you made out with the cute neighbor who looked like young, skinny Elvis while your boyfriend was in the next room? Remember?
Good times, matey.
Then remember how you finally said "fuck it" and just cut it all off one day? And dyed it almost black? And kept it that way for years?
It was too bad that whenever you didn't wear makeup and had jeans and a baggy shirt on that people called you "sir" or "dude" or "what are you- some sort of man-hating lesbian?"
To which you would reply: "Yes, yes I am. The fact that, you sir, are wearing "dad jeans", dirty old Reebok hi-tops, an "I'm too sexy for this shirt" t-shirt and one gold hoop earring have nothing whatsoever to do with my disinterest in you sexually. Obviously I must be gay."
Though you do kind of look like you're oogling your friend's boobies here, truth be told.
Well, I hate to tell you, but I think it's time for a new 'do.
Time to go back to your "roots", if you will.
Time to get back to your salad days.
Time for "keepin' it real."
Time to get back into the wild experimentation and total disregard for actually looking attractive of your youth.
Here is my suggestion, just take a few days and consider it: