In 1994 and 1995, maybe even 1996, you could not swing a dead cat (don’t ask me, it’s a Michigan-saying, I think. I intend to not swing cats, dead or otherwise, ever. No worries) without hitting someone with her hair done in the oh-so-famous “Rachel” style.
The Rachel, if you can’t tell from that picture of Jennifer Aniston above, is a cut that is FILLED with layers. Lots. And. Lots. Of. Layers. It was cute at the time, and it marked an era, and Friends was a cute show anyway and it’s always fun to get that “Smelly Cat” song stuck in your head (AND OH MY GOD WITH THE CATS AGAIN. I’M SORRY).
But time passed by and so did the style and that was fine.
And then Friday I went to get my hair cut – I didn’t really have a plan. I was long overdue to have some split ends clipped off and I didn’t have any real direction beyond that. “How about we lighten up some layers?” my stylist said. “It will help your curl spring up and be so cute!”
Okay. Sure. Fine.
At the end of the hair cut, I had her blow it out (I can never get my hair that straight), got back to my car, checked it in the rear view and realized, Oh no. This is the Rachel cut. I will never survive with this many layers. My curls are NOT going to cooperate. This is not going to be good.
In fact, I’ve been scared to let it curl. I straightened it again, fearing that if I see how it curls up, how it doesn’t work the way I want it to, that I may cry.
Which is silly: It’s only hair.
Not only is it ONLY HAIR, my hair grows super-duper-speedy-quick.
If the layers really are too messed up for my curls, I’ll just cut a few more inches off (Ugh, that hurt to type), and I know that it’ll grow back and that it’s just hair and I’m being silly and ridiculous.
Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow I let it curl and see what happens.
Wish me luck.