11.11.14

JEAN YIP DIARIES: BREATH OF FRESH HAIR

| Beauty |

When I was in my teens and had to get up at 6 am each morning for school, I'd always take the easy way out - leave my hair long enough to sit pretty in the classroom while unsuspecting victims of the parental acclaimed low maintenance tomboy cut get all manic, seeking bob 'n' lobs alike for refuge and 'strength', sometimes, the two-period long maniacal rants screech beyond 200 miles per hour, not top speed, but still fast enough for me to avoid the short cut that leads to a shanty town of bad hair days. 




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Shots by Chanel O.

Now, a decade later, it's a different frizz game. Bed hair that gives the slightly dishevelled look gets people talking, talking about just how effortlessly chic you look. Never mind that. I've realised that I've been a coward with my hair and that I should have been more adventurous. One sunny afternoon, dear David did the deed for me. Though I managed to catch my breath (of fresh hair), the memories that lived through those keratin, gone. Security blanket, gone. [inserts cliche end-off] And I was free.

I knew that if I go short, I will no longer get the gravity pull from the weight of my now ex-length, and the ends will sort of frizz up, the body will pouf a little and it'd be more dramatic than a Shakespeare tragedy. Still, back to my roots, before David proceeded with the job, I plainly looked into my reflection and improvised the final look, prayed and trusted that I'm in good scissorhands, held on to my boyfriend's disclaimer that he still thinks I'm perfect even if I was a bald eagle, and let the master do his work. 

Cut to the chase, a few snips, dye, super silk treatment, and royal scalp injections later to keep the records straight- voilà! -a fresh out-of-bed hair. Termed out-of-bed for the fact that it is perfect when rinsed in the morning sunlight, like milk and honey, the art of lightening up yet bringing out its full flavour like an aged amber wine. 

Tip: Fortune favours the brave

Gone fishing X

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