StyleBible.ph

I finally succumbed to an (extremely overplayed) obsession of mine since I decided I wanted to grow yesteryear’s Pob out. I got a perm! And not one of those super-kawaii, somewhat Doc Oc-looking digiperm treatments, too; I got a real, honest-to-God permanent wave. I figured since I couldn’t do anything while waiting for my locks to reach Rhona Mitra levels, might as well have fun in the meantime. This whole wavy-messy thing I’ve got going on now took a really (really, really) long time coming.

Maybe it’s all the fashion sites I get to see in my downtime (goshdarnjiminy, this Interweb life): all the fab femme bloggers sport the same haphazard hairstyle, as if their sartorial skill was inversely proportional to how polished their ‘dos were that day. I blog, therefore I don’t brush? Maybe so. Obvi, a sexy, tousled mane has more street cred than something too pretty done.

I wouldn’t try this out if I didn’t think it didn’t make at least an ounce of beauty sense. Here are the rationalizations I’ve come up with so far:

1. Wash and wear;

2. Nicole Richie beach hair — get the ‘do, not the life (or according to a recent pep.ph forum comment about La Greta herself, “Kainggit ang beauty, hindi ang buhay!“);

3. My clothes will seem more expensive offset by my trashionista ‘do;

4. I get to be Jackie Burkhart, all raven-haired volume and shine, when used with a curling iron (nota bene: my formerly anorexic strands reject any deliberate wave, yet a mercurial rise in humidity and nooo, out come the frizzies…);

5. Likewise, my forehead also seems, er, more obscure, in comparison;

6. Surfer girl hair is the closest thing I come to surfing in general; and finally

7. TEXTURE! Now I can do that whole neo-Brigitte Bardot thing with all this pouf to work with. Oh, and it sexifies any growing-out bob and keeps The Urge* at bay.

Check out a gorgeous shot at last night’s Rajo fête of an even wilder mane. Picture something more Mila Kunis and less Elaine from Seinfeld and you’ve got my present head of state. Regardless: Val delos Santos takes the curl to a Hole Notha Level. I die. D-I-E. Gela and Ney, you shut it down. Haha.

*The uncontrollable desire, nay, compulsion, to forego reason and lop it all off in a Rihanna rage. Most commonly followed by The Intractable Regret once all the hormones have leveled off.

P.S. Rachel Zoe, if you’re reading this, ILYVM! You are bananas. No, for real.