When my stylist Vern and I decided to grow my hair out, I don’t think either of us expected (or was prepared) for this:
This is what I deal with. Every. Single. Day.
And more often than not, unless its evening and we’re going out and I have more time to get ready, that becomes this:
How boring, I know.
But the first? Involves product and a curling iron and more product. And lots of time. And then it’s a curly, tousled, did she just tumble out of bed look. But I have to work for that look.
And most mornings? Especially if I’ve been out for a run or didn’t sleep well? It’s the contained, serious look. And really, I’d like to think I’m neither of those things.