Short month, high stress, low productivity. That about says it all.
Three garments, six yards of fabric.
One I love, one I like (a lot), one I'm iffy about.
In that order, the Heidi dress, the McCalls blouse, and the BWOF hooded tunic.
Since when, in my world, does BWOF come in last? It must be a full moon.
On another topic, I don't know about you all, but I was a bit inspired by Peter's post about having a "look" over on Male Pattern Boldness. I understood what he meant right off, being another who rarely has a defined "look," but usually some amorphous, shifting thing in my mind, which of course the wardrobe has to encompass.
I tried to decide what it was that prevented me from having a "look," aside from just . . . not. Sometimes I think you have to be a very definite type of personality to have a look, and I'm not the type. I don't know. But one thing I've always felt held me back from any specific look was my hair.
We have issues, my hair and I. Very definite issues. What I want it to look like is rarely what it wants. It curls under on one side, and up on the other, while still having barely enough wave to keep me out of the poker-straight category. It's fine and weighs itself down quickly, so below shoulder length is impossible because it always looks lank and dirty. All my stylists have told me they'd rather shave my head than give me a perm, and having lived through several poodle perms in my life (even body waves turned poodle, until they fell out), I totally agreed.
So last Wednesday I walked into the salon with a photo taken of the other actress in my friend's show, and said, "Do this."
Stylist: "Really?" Rubbing his scissors in anticipation.
Me: "Yep, and quickly, before I change my mind."
Stylist: "Is everything okay at home?"
Me: "Yes, why?"
Stylist: "Because a woman only wants to change her hair that much when something's out of control."
Because of course, when our life is out of control, we reach for the one thing we can control: our hair. Been there, done that. And maybe I'm still doing that, but at least things are okay at home. I think it's just been stressful at work and more than stressful with my aunt, and I needed to get a handle on something, even if it was just my head.
Then he took my glasses, without which I can't see diddly, and went to town on my head. After the first chunk of hair fell - a sight which even my eyes could see - I asked for my glasses back, but he sensibly refused to give them to me on the grounds that it was too late and he might as well keep going.
Soon it was all over, and . . . I love it. I feel lighter, neater, and a lot more like what I want to look like. I know that the common wisdom is that after you hit a "certain age," you should go short. I don't think that's the case for everyone, but I feel like it was the right choice for me - on days when I'm feeling tired, having my hair drooping alongside my face made me feel like my face was drooping right along with it.
Feeling droopy is more aging than looking droopy, sometimes.
So there it is, new hair. Now I'm debating changing the color a bit, and there's some new makeup in the bathroom because, as it turns out, if I'm not hiding behind my hair, I have to paint myself up a little bit to go out of the house in the morning. But then again, I have all that time that I'm not fighting with my hair, so it evens out.
Elizabeth, these pictures are for you. I hate having my picture taken, so DIY with the camera in the sewing room is the best you're going to get.
Next up, the muslin of the Sencha blouse. It's almost done, but I've got to go off and recover from the trauma of posting hair pictures.