The Death of Indian Rapunzel

Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes to a fairy tale and cultural character that, unfortunately, passed away 10:00 am Monday. She was brutally assaulted with a pair of scissors, a brush, and a hair dryer for P40. With every snip of those wretched shears, she was being dismembered. Goodbye, Indian Rapunzel. You shall sorely be missed.


…Or not!

Haha! I got my hair cut. Yes, my tresses are no longer waist-length. Instead, I now have this sort of sultry, layered bob that frames my face and shows off my cheek bones. And you know what? I love it to bits.




(My camera's been acting weird lately. Don't mind the line!)

I love how classy and sophisticated it looks. I don’t know about you, but to me, it has this very gamine-like/European art film star quality to it. It looks like the sort of coiffure Audrey Tautou would sport in her latest Jean-Pierre Jeunet film. Or, if you want to go a little Hollywood, I could see Faye Dunnaway or Elizabeth Taylor with the same romantic hairdo in one of their classic flicks. It’s, I suppose, very fitting to my taste for classic and independent cinema.

I also love how easy to manage it is. All I need to do is brush my mane inwards, and voila. There’s no need for special irons or gadgetry. Just a brush would be perfectly fine to maintain this rather sensual do.

But what do I love most about my new hairstyle? Well, it’s actually something that would make me reminisce all the way back to high school.

You see, my natural hair texture is antithesis to everything the hair care industry stood for and promoted ---- big, fluffy and wavy versus the industry standard of stick-straight, thin and silky. And well, high school was, well, high school --- full of girls that wanted to copy the latest trend and ostracized every single deviant of the rules of fashion. I can’t remember just how many times I’ve been told to get my hair rebonded and chemically-altered for the sake of conformity. I got so fed up with the very explicit suggestions that I actually gave in last year, and got my hair permanently straightened (In all fairness, I liked the results.).

To add insult to injury, every single hair cut I had was fit for straight hair. Whether it was layered, Pobbed (Posh bobbed, since the hair style was popularised by Victoria “Posh Spice” Beckham), or whatever it is they’ve concocted, all of them seemed to suit only those with stick-straight locks. It was as if to say, “Yeah, it looks good….if your hair were thin and silky (Nudge! Nudge! Get a rebond.)” I’m sure the hairstylists meant no harm. The styles were probably industry standard. After all, their profession had to keep up with trends. They just styled my mane the way it was probably taught to them by Media Beauty School, but it still made my hair look awry.

The best thing about this hair style is that it embraces my natural voluminous, wavy hair. I love how the hair stylist took a look at my wavy hair (and my wishes not to rebond it again, for now) and saw beauty in it. He considered my rather unusual tresses and made something of it, as if to say that you don’t have to fit into the shampoo model mould to have fabulous hair (By the way, Sunsilk, I love you for using a curly-haired model for an advertisement. I’m still not going to use you, though. You make my hair fall!).

And, it’s usually like that. Whether it’s lips, or art, or ideas on how to further the cause of education --- it doesn’t have to fit into the mould to be considered worthy of attention (With the last two, it especially rings true). Something very peculiar and unusual, if only listened to, can be the idea to change the world.

All it takes is the removal of prejudice and a listening ear….oh, and in my case, brushing inwardly.