The yellow demon made its debut! The only way to crack this baby out for maximum impact is, of course, against black, and with that shocking orange crop of mine.
I had it cut even shorter last night, after a crisis of confidence in the hairdressers' where I concluded that I just looked like a girl with a boy's haircut, so demanded the razors to take it even shorter. Some girl on the street said 'lesbian' a tad too loudly as I walked past, leading me to conclude, as was reinforced by me catching a glimpse of the cover of Diva magazine and seeing the vast majority of cover models had boyishly short hair, that this stereotype will no doubt stay with me until I die. Or, as I did the last time the put-downs go too much, grow it into some vile lifeless mop of (shudder) long hair.
I'm reading Caitlin Moran's How To Be A Woman at the moment (lent to me by my gay bff, naturally) and as well as some truly laugh-out-loud (on a packed train at rush hour) lines it's got some uncomfortably honest truths about what it's like to be a woman. It's a fascinatingly honest read, and it pains me to say that some of it even feels illicit. This discomfort that women such as myself seem to have with our gender makes some of the remarks Caitlin makes seem crude, lewd and too far. But as I, like a lot of women, am incredibly uncomfortable in my own skin, I imagine that this is normal. It's allowed. It's a cross between adult confidence and what I like to think of as the crossover from youth to adulthood, where you just have to learn to live with your insecurities as something you'll eventually outgrow.