Everyone loves a good makeover story. Not so much the Lifetime reality show (is that even still on?), but you know what I mean - Devil Wears Prada, Miss Congeniality, She's All That, Grease... those are just the first ones that come to mind, but you get the point. Everyone likes to watch someone else transform into a better version of themselves. I suspect this is true because it supports the theory that there's a better version of all of us hidden away, just waiting to be extracted in our own personal movie makeover montage.
Over the years, I've made several attempts to stage my metamorphis, most notably after my freshman year of college when I had my long locks chopped into a Meg Ryan circa City of Angels 'do. This attempt stands out, not because it resulted in shrieks of "omigod, is that you?" (though it did), but because it accompanied (or incited?) a definite shift in my personality. I went into my sophomore year feeling more care-free, more optimisitc, and more willing to embrace anything college life had to offer (most notably, alcohol, but let's not dwell on that).
I cut off the majority of my hair yet again this week, but instead of dramatically revealing a more care-free, confident version of myself...I'm still pretty much just me. It's not that I'm surprised. With the exception of my post freshman year transformation, I've never had a haircut change my life (and if I'm being honest, that transformation probably had more to do with recovering from a broken heart than my hair). But regardless of the facts, over the years, whenever I'm feeling sad or stressed or out of control, I become convinced that changing my appearance - my hair, my weight, my clothes - will surely change everything. But the truth is - brunette or blonde, long or short, curly or straight, size 4 or size 8 - I'm still pretty much just me.
And as much as I love a good makeover story, maybe "just me" is okay.