Let me get straight to the point, the fail is referring to my appalling lack of photos from Punchestown. I was hoping to penetrate the glitterati at the event and try and lure out some of the more left-field stylistas. Anyone who avoided the tried-and-tested matchy-matchy accessorising and ubiquitous frothy dress was worth a snap. And there was plenty of off-kilter fun to be had – jumpsuits and maxis and excellent trouser-suits and beautiful clutches and swoon-inducing jewels and fabulous, fabulous shoes. But I was too distracted with racing-rage to properly concentrate. The queuing and the waiting and the queuing and the ringing and the queuing and the leering…it was just too much. I must point out that I arrived at the tail-end of ladies day, sober and full of rosy-tinted expectations of Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet (I’ve only been to the races twice). So I was thrown when we were greeted at the gates by 14 year old girls staggering around bare-foot and bedraggled and champagne-stewed men catcalling their wins way above the acceptable noise limits. I had my first drink at 9pm and could only seethe in rage until that point. So in a nutshell, no photographs from Punchestown.
The Swish Swish refers to my new fringe. I finally did the dirty deed and acquiesced to a fringe at Style Club on Thursday eve. My fringe challenges have been previously documented and I had written myself off as a frizzy-haired, fringe outsider, but something came over me in the salon. Something always comes over me in a salon. I go in wanting a trim and I come out with a severe bob, I ask for blonde highlights and I get red lowlights, I say straight, they say curly. I’m easily swayed…Things is, hair grows. Worse case scenario and you’ve been given a Deirdre Barlow bouffant, you just stay bedridden for a few weeks, embrace a hat and wait for all to right itself. No grumbles from me on this count though – I love the fringe. Now it is entirely impractical. On the first night, I tried to sleep in one position so as not to threaten the symmetry of the fringe and I awoke with a crick in my neck. By day two I had developed a nervous twitch, which involved repeatedly straightening the curtain effect. Day three saw a kind-of helmet evolution and by day four the fringe has been pinned back so to the impartial observer I look like I don’t have one. But for those few hours of just-been-blowdried brilliance, I am happy – my forehead has been magically downsized, my eyes are framed nicely and I get a soothing ‘swish-swish’ sound when I flick it to the side.
2 comments
Comments feed for this article
April 28, 2010 at 4:01 pm
Kathryn the neighbour
ahhhh Jennifer (as us who reside in eadestown know her as) you have touched on a very touchy debate…..to fringe or not to fringe?I’ve been having a similar debate in my own head recently…on seeing all those ‘golden oldies’ photos of myself back in the hay day (that people have for some unknown reason been posting on facebook ) i was shocked to see myself with my old frenemy the fringe. I remember the love/hate relationship we shared…..i loved how it made an ponytail look a lot more than a plain old ponytail but then hated how its needed fixing every two minutes and therefore became greasy at least a day before the rest of my hair. Now, the argument in my head is that with my new found maturity and thinner face (baby fat cheeks are finally deflating) i would be able to carry it off effortlessly as do so many people i know……i thank you for your rantings….it has given me much to muse over….i do however, miss the swish swish.
August 30, 2010 at 2:34 pm
Copenhagen Part 2 « what will i wear today?
[…] hair. I also have to accept that I am not built for fringes and it is time to let mine go. Adieu Fringey. Can’t say it’s been too swell, but it’s definitely been […]