I’m slowly cutting my hair shorter. An inch here or there to get used to it. It was about waist length and is now closer to bra strap length.
It’s lighter now. Weird. When I get to shoulder length, I’ll leave it there and dye it pink again. Yes, pink, again. I look too, unSuzy like. My nose ring is gone, as it migrated down my face, I don’t wear my earrings, I stopped stretching them, and my hair is normal.
I’ve been going through an “I must look like an adult” phase. But, really what does that mean? I’m 31. Obviously, I’m not a kid anymore. I look my age. The picture down there? It’s a couple years old now. I have some grey peaking out, a line here or there. I really do look like a 31 year old.
Although, that phrasing is odd. I am 31, so, I have to look 31. Just like anyone else, if you’re 40, that’s what 40 looks like for you, 20, same thing. (Lord, though, if I could go back to 20 and tell myself how young I was.)
We are used to judging age by media. Television, magazines, news. Of course actors look younger, they have money to be pinched, pulled, tucked, makeup’d to look like something their not.
It’s the real people that matter. That hits me sometimes, when I’m sitting at a dart tournament, a store, a restaurant. How people look. No one looks like the magazine pictures, we all have different lines, expressions, hair. No one’s hair is completely flat without a single hair poking out. We’re people.
Yet, we look to those pictures to compare ourselves. That’s just sad. There is nothing better looking than a regular person with a smile. A man holding his wife’s hand. A mother looking at her child. A couple giggling across a table. That’s reality and I wish there was more of it.