“I need a change.”
I looked up at Gat from my phone. Day 5 of our spontaneous spring break. We were back from the gym — my first time in a year — and, rather than feeling the ‘running high’ so many of my fit friends gush about, I was left feeling like a sweaty mess with little esteem. There was no such ‘high’ in sight. There wasn’t even a runner’s ‘eh, I’m feeling slightly better than normal.’ Just me, huffing and puffing after 15 minutes on the stair-master and a few planks.
“Maybe I should change my hair”
This was the next thing I said, to which Gat replied with the indifferent “do it.” I booked an appointment at Trim. on Abbot Kinney within the next ten minutes.
We headed over in the heart of rush hour traffic, and stopped into Intelligentsia and to sip on very overpriced lattes. So Los Angeles I bet you’re saying to yourself. If you are, you’re right. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
I got my haircut by a woman named Drea. She killed it, as you’ll see from the pictures. She cut it dry, as I had the first-time-30-dollar special. Suddenly pieces of hair were falling everywhere, leaving behind a cute little bob. I drew inspiration from Cara Delevingne and her wonderful Chanel-show debut, sans the silver dye. Drea got it pretty damn perfect, and I’ve fallen completely in love.
(c) Gatsby Keyes (<—- check out his website)