Choppity-Chop (Part 2)

Celebrating the Roaring Twenties in a Special Series

Ta-da! Here it is! The new, bobbed and banged me. What do you think of my homage to Louise Brooks? It’s a little longer than hers, and I haven’t managed to flatten the shape as well as my hairdresser did (no surprises there – I need some sort of new flattening product) but I am thrilled to have short hair again.

It feels so good – nor more running my hands through my hair endlessly, trying to ease out knots.

I had it expertly cut by Alex at Lady Marmalade in Prahran, Melbourne – with thanks to Virginie for a great blowdry (and Brittany for the head massage!). I asked Alex if it was satisfying to cut off so much, and he replied it gave him more satisfaction to cut such a classic style, knowing exactly which angles to snip, and what suited his client.

Bobbed, mid-way :: Americana // DC // No flashAll the staff there were very excited at a client chopping off such a length of hair in one fell swoop, so I had an audience for a while, which was quite amusing. Alex asked if I would like to keep my hair; I thought about it – perhaps it would make an funny photograph – but decided that there was no sense in holding onto the past. “Bin it,” I said firmly.

I can’t recommend Lady Marmalade enough for such a warm atmosphere and fabulous service (coffee, wine, cheese and biscuits!). Need a cut? Go there!

Excuse me now while I go practise the Charleston.

Check me out in colour on Facebook.

Bobbed, all the way baby! :: Americana // DC // No flash

The Last Longhaired Day

All week whenever I have thought about my upcoming haircut appointment I have been clapping my hands in delight, squealing with excitement and skipping with glee.

I’ve been longhaired for quite a while now but the time has come for the Big Chop. That’s right, it’s all coming Off. I like to go to extremes. I’ll dither for a little while and then suddenly the urge to chop consumes me entirely. I’ve reached that stage now. I think I’ve done all the photoshoots with long hair that I need to (and besides, I’ve smashed my camera into oblivion and won’t have it back for up to six weeks [sob]), so it’s … Off with my hair!

Today is my last day that it can waft in the breeze and I can shake my hair that clichéd way those girls do in the movies, all slow-mo and Vaseline-lensed. It’s my last hurrah … Hurrah!

Spring Awakening

Spring has arrived. We’re in for some sunny weather in the next few days – oh joy! Shed those winter layers, put on those fluttery, bright silks and flit through the sunshiney days. Leave off your iPod for once and listen to the birds twittering, and the breeze fluttering through the cherry blossom. Breathe deep.

Maybe take your umbrella with you – just in case. Dear Melbourne. 

Winter Slumber

Poor old winter gets a bad rap. No-one likes it. When you look at the mythology and symbolism surrounding the cold season, it’s all doom and gloom, death and despair. And that’s really not fair.

In Greek mythology, it’s Demeter who, mother of Persephone who gets dragged off to hell for six months of the year, gets depressed over her daughter’s absence and thereby causes winter. On the other hand, for the warlike Welsh, two rival warriors of the Otherworld duel over the love of a beautiful maiden, symbolising a contest between summer and winter.

Numerous writers, such as CS Lewis in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, use winter to symbolise a lack of hope – in Narnia, it is always winter, but never Christmas. Other literary allusions include bleakness, isolation, regret and, the ultimate, death. Equally, spring could be likened to painful, bloody birth pangs rather than pretty birds twittering sweetly in the cherry blossom, and little bunnikins hopping about in the meadows.

But, to be literal, rather than literary, it is not the end: winter is the season when the earth rests from all her labours leading up to the harvest. There is something beautiful about the notion of the trees dropping all their leaves and slumbering peacefully, before the almighty effort of pushing out all those little green buds when spring comes.

The prettiest analogy I can think of is the caterpillar that builds its cocoon and waits all winter long for the warmth of the sun – and you know what happens next.

Under the Apple Tree

Today, in honour of our fallen heroes, I have been listening to The Best of the Andrews Sisters. So from them, to you, Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree:

I wrote my mother,
I wrote my father,
And now I’m writing you too.
I’m sure of mother,
I’m sure of father,
And now I want to be sure of you.

Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me, NO NO NO!
Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me
Till I come marching home.
Don’t go walking down lovers’ lane with anyone else but me,
Anyone else but me, anyone else but me,
Don’t go walking down lovers’ lane with anyone else but me
Till I come marching home.

I just got word from a guy who heard
From the guy next door to me,
That a girl he met just loves to pet,
And it fits you to a “T”.
So don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me
Till I come marching home.

Hope you’ve had a great ANZAC Day in spite of the horrible weather.

Background image by Dan S from Stock.xchng.