I've decided the best plan, especially here in the South, is to cut my hair short at the beginning of summer, and let it grow out until the next spring. Then it's fairly long in the winter when I want my neck warm.

For the longest time I wondered if there was something wrong with me, that Lewis didn't have any kind of hair preference for me. I've had it everywhere from an angled bob to middle of my back, with bangs, without bangs, dark brown to auburn to multiple highlights-- the most he ever said was when my hair was getting to the overprocessed point, he said it was looking kind of brassy and wasn't the most flattering color for me. Which he was absolutely right about; it was the closest to blonde I've ever gotten. Close enough to know that I should never, ever consider full blonde for myself.

But I'd say to him, Oh, I'm going to get my hair cut or colored or whatever and ask if he had an opinion and he'd always say, "Whatever makes you happy."

Which, of course, infuriated me. What did he like? The world I came from, the men always had an opinion on women's hair (usually long) and growing up, my mother had had iron-clad rules about my hair. No coloring, no cuts, nothing. So I had waist-length dark brown hair until I was 19, when I lopped off sixteen inches. (my mother didn't speak to me for two months. It was lovely.)

It took me forever to realize that he really honestly didn't have a preference. He tells me he thinks I'm beautiful regardless. Kind of mind-boggling, especially since I have so little sense of what kind of hair works best on me. But now I'm so used to his lack of opinion/preference, that it surprises me to hear men state their preferences for women's hair.

Paul has expressed only vague preferences for anything hair related. So it's all up to my whim.

Right now, I'm growing it long. It is cheaper for upkeep that way, and now that I'm hennaed rather than chemical red, I don't have the damage that made me get sick of it and cut it off. One trim a year keeps costs in check!

I'm growing mine long too. I'm too lazy to keep up with a short hair cut.

It took me forever to realize that he really honestly didn't have a preference. He tells me he thinks I'm beautiful regardless. Kind of mind-boggling, especially since I have so little sense of what kind of hair works best on me. But now I'm so used to his lack of opinion/preference, that it surprises me to hear men state their preferences for women's hair.

Yeah, this is me and Tom too.

I've been growing mine out too, but I may chop it really short soon so that I can see what color it is when it's not dyed.

I think Hubby has a blind spot against short hair. I point out beautiful women with short hair and asks what he thinks of them, and he says, "It's too bad she cut her hair" and such. He's a caveman, but I love him.

Plei, I want to start using henna. Any suggestions? I've developed an allergy to the chemical dyes, and they're ruining my hair. My hair's naturally v. dark brown with undertones of red, and now about 40% grey. The last dye job was way too dark. I'm thinking of dying it red from now on, so that the gray will become red and the black will stay black. It'll either look cool and strange, or just weird and awful.

I am so ready to chop mine off. It's always in my way, a hassle to wash, takes forever to dry. I just need to figure out where to go to get it cut, and what words to say to the person with the scissors to get something reasonably flattering done. I hope I manage that before I get fed up and hack off a ponytail with pinking shears.

Holy Mother of God, I want this dress. Seeing that it costs more than a month's rent, I'm gonna say Not in this lifetime, but... ohhhhhh. I'll have to be satisfied with knowing that somewhere there is a parallel dimension me who already owns and loves it.

I have no real hair preferences for myself at this point, except: (a) my one true bang length and style is the Bettie Page; (b) contra Hec, I'm rather preferring the deeper darker browns I've been using lately (on the rare occasions when I color it at all); and (c) never below the shoulders, never again. At or an inch past the shoulders is as long as my hair can possibly get without exploding into a billion scraggy split ends; adding insult to injury, despite the scraggle the hair maintains enough weight to pull out all the curl, so it's truly the worst of all possible worlds: dull, stringy, shapeless and frizzy all at once.

And, bah. Now I'm craving Mexican food something fierce.