Fashion Victim?

It's amazing how a new haircut can make me feel like a new and better version of myself.

I always joke that being a woman means being in a constant battle to stay on the right side of ugly (ie, the not ugly side). There are chipped toenails to be re-polished, legs to be de-fuzzed, skin to be exfoliated, pores to be mud-masked, eyebrows to be waxed, faces to be made up, abs to be toned, hair to be cut and colored, closets to be cleaned out and filled with wearable (hopefully slimming) outfits.

It gets tiring to say the least.

Maybe this is partially my own fault, as I am what "they" call a girly-girl. I'll run to Target in yoga pants, but I don't like leaving the house without mascara and concealer on. Sue me. I like to at least resemble the girl who B. first took out and not let myself go just because I'm "taken," part of which I feel is keeping the legs in first-date shape. I don't like to wear shoes with last season's heel or cheap clothing that doesn't hold its shape in the dryer. I realize that all these things are my choice. But constant choices become habits, and it begins to feel like I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to just make it in under the wire of looking halfway decent.

But Saturday, I got my out-of-control, overgrown short hair cut. I got a new style (as I do pretty much every time...): long, side-swept, choppy bangs and short, edgy layers. The cut took off the last of the leftover black-brown ends and left me with shiny, reddish medium brown. Add a little eye makeup and I was feeling like a supermodel.

Or I will for a week or two anyway.