I finally got my Leighton Meester/loose waves, blunt bangs hair cut yesterday. The combination of me having kids with crazy schedules and a new job and my hairstylist having a new baby kept me from getting it done until yesterday, but Holy Crap. I love it. My bangs are full and nice without being too thick and bowl-cut-esque. And she just trimmed the rest of it all up so I kept most of my length, which I like. It all made me inordinately happy because I've been feeling like I was in a bit of a funk style and beauty wise. But now I feel...like a better version of myself. Like my hair is a better representation of who I am and what I am capable of. And that seems like a lot to pin on a hairstyle, but seriously. It is a much better feeling.
Sometimes I wonder just how vain a person I am that my mood can be lifted that much by a simple change, like a new haircut or a new eyeliner. There is something un-feministy about it, that's for sure. But is it wrong to like those things? I don't think so. I get deluged by these stupid status messages on Facebook, talking about how moms should give up their "designer bags for diaper bags" and their styled hair for pony tails (if you are my FB friend, you know how much I hate these), and I get very angry. To me, clothes and hair and all of that is just something I enjoy. Part of me. If I have to give that up to be a mom, I'm not going to be giving all of myself as a mom. Does that make sense?
It is all ok, though, because my husband says I look like Bettie Page. Is there higher praise? I think not.
(And yes, I will post pretty pretty pictures of my hair someday. I was going to do it today because I have a brand new spankin' digital camera in my desk drawer, but it is rainy today, so I did not fully curl the hair to get the wavy effect--just blow dried it straight and then flipped the ends around with a straightening iron. Also my daughter is in the spelling bee today and I was spending my morning, yelling "SPELL TACHISTOSCOPE!" and not making myself pretty. Hopefully, the rain will subside, and I will do the full thing tomorrow.)
Also, I must tell you about these pants. There has been a Second Coming, ya'll. The Second Coming of the HOLY DENIM TROUSERS. If you were lucky enough to read my other blog, Cult of the Black Sweater, you will know that about 50% of my wardrobe revolved around this pair of size 14 J. Crew denim trousers that I adored. I babied those pants like you would not believe--Woolite, line drying, fabric softener that I bought on the internet. Hell, if they still fit, I would have them on RIGHT NOW. But aye, there is the rub in losing weight. Things that you love no longer fit. So I took the pants and donated them to my mom's church where they have a closet of work-related clothing that they give to people who are trying to get jobs. And I had a very hard time replacing them. I have some Gap denim trousers, but they were not exactly right--a bit saggy at the end of the day, the leg not tailored the way I like. But then, Talbots stepped into my life. And now, me and Talbots are like those couples who you see in romantic comedies who eat waffles together and work Sunday crossword puzzles and share sets of pajamas and dance to John Mayer songs and have nicknames like Cupcake and Lovepot.
These pants are freaking amazing and if you don't go buy a pair right now, you are certifiably crazy. Kidding. Kind of. I wore these the other day and got compliments on them, which was nice. And then today, I go to the bathroom, and I see something out of the corner of my eye as I'm washing my hands. I'm thinking, "Who is that skinny bitch in the mirror?" And then I realize--"SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL, that is ME." My legs, ya'll, were long. And that never happens. Because I'm 5 foot 3. My 11 year old daughter's legs are longer than mine. NOT joking. But these pants, plus my leopard print peep toes...I could easily pass for someone non-short. Plus, the denim is substantial and saturated--not that tissue-y stuff a lot of trousers are made out of. And they fit TTS--got my size 6 Regular (probably would get a petite if I were not wearing them with heels the majority of the time). HOLY, I'm telling you. They are truly HOLY. When I put them on, angels sing and babies are born and little kittens lick each other and then roll into cute little balls and mew. When I put them on, the Democrats control the House again and Tim Lincecum cuts his hair and Roy Halladay decides to sign a 50 year deal with the Oakland Athletics and everything that is good and right in the world happens. Or at least, that's what it feels like.
I should note that yes, I got the jeans for free in a contest. Talbots, however, did not ask me to write about their jeans. They barely know that I exist except as an address that the UPS man delivers to. And let me tell you, he will be delivering A LOT if these jeans are any sign of things to come.
SQUEE!! I love these pants!