Remember the good old days when we’d yet to hear of the Deficient Duchess or
her swoon-worthy locks, and instead were wetting ourselves over ‘The Rachel,”
the haircut that Jennifer Aniston made famous on Friends?
It was the must-have look for longer than it probably
should’ve been. Even yours truly sported, with some hesitation, something
similar. It didn’t matter what your circumstances were – what your face shape
was, how plump or thin your face was, or even the thickness or wispiness of
your hair – everyone wanted it.
In fact, Jen’s hair had much the same effect that Kate’s
clothes have. Women around the world made the unfortunate decision that if it
looked good on a heavily styled, well put together, thinner than average woman,
it would also look good on them. This assumption was and is grossly false, of
course, but these women didn’t care. They were on a mission.
And so it was that ‘The Rachel’ became a pop culture
phenomenon.
Honestly, I didn’t think it was that bad. As far as haircuts
go, I’ve certainly seen much worse (even on myself), but Jennifer has made no
secret of the fact that she hated it. Hated. It. It seems that she, like many celebrities,
suffers from Ungratefulitis, a disease running rampant in Hollywood in
which the infected person comes to hate, and talk trash about, the very things
that made him or her famous. (See: Robert Pattinson.)
I mean, seriously, could she be any more ungrateful?
After all, it pretty much had to be her hair that put her on the map because it
certainly wasn’t her acting.
On the other hand, I’m not in any position to judge someone
for hating her hair. I’ve found myself in many a hair-related meltdowns, and
you know what they say about people in glass houses…
They should never walk around naked.
Anyway, maybe Jen was right to hate her hair, BECAUSE, as it
turns out, her hairdresser was HIGH when he cut it. High. On drugs.
I don’t even like it when my hairstylist talks too much
while she’s cutting my hair. I want her full, undivided attention to be on what
she’s doing (i.e. chopping my locks). So I can’t imagine allowing a scissor-wielding,
illegal-drug-taking fool anywhere near my head.
Ever.
But, then again, I’m old-fashioned.
