The Wrong Rachel

A couple of months ago, I decided to get my hair cut. I'd been growing it out for a while with no particular plan other than making sure the remnants of my former, horrible-mushroom-head cut were gone. All I did was pull it up in ponytails that made my head look too big and my hair look overly greasy. I decided that something much fresher and cuter was in order, something closer to my short-ish hair incarnations of several years ago. I loved (most of) my short haircuts, because they were cute and easy, and I remembered one cut that had been the easiest and cutest of all. It was short but not too short, layered but not too poofy, and all I had to do was shower and run my fingers through it and it always looked great. Ding ding ding! We have a winner.

I have learned my lesson and NEVER EVER EVER EVER go to the hairdresser without a picture anymore, but I had long since thrown out the magazine cover that inspired the much-loved short n' cute haircut. I Googled around and found the same image I used several years ago to get the original cut:



In its original incarnation on my head, it was like this but a little shorter and a tiny bit curly because my hair naturally does that. So I went in armed with my inkjet-printed Vanity Fair cover and explained what I wanted. Unfortunately, the hairdresser apparently thought it was 1996, because I walked out with this:



So now I either pull it back in a (very small and stubby) ponytail, or walk around looking like I did in my high-school graduation pictures. I know I sometimes wish I could look like I did back in high school, but this is NOT what I meant. However, if I were to go to a class reunion this year, nobody would have any trouble recognizing me.