A few months prior to moving to nyc I chopped my hair off again a la Jean, which I usually seem to do in about 2-3 year cycles, just long enough to grow it ridiculously long for my small body and overwhelm me and waste my time since all I do is wear it up in a bun anyway. The first time I saw Breathless, I don’t know what I fell in love with most, her sweet little face, the mod chic, the guy with the hot car or Paris. There’s something so refreshing and transforming about hacking off all that hair and the first time I did it–that short–I was 19 or so and the hairstylist who would be mine the next few years looked me dead-on and said, “You’re better off without him.” Well, I miss it already. The upkeep is just too frightfully expensive at nyc prices. But when I move to Marfa and write on the ranch all the livelong day, you bet your sweet ass the hair goes again, too. It never fails to amaze me the polarizing effect it has on people: girls love it, and the guys who do tend to be keepers. Men who like their women strong, unique, irreverent, unconventional, stylish…it seems to weed out all the guys who just like a pretty face. And for something that seems so extreme, it actually ends up being a really soft, feminine look. Oh well. Poor Jean. God only knows what happened to her; somewhere between the conspiracy theorists and simple tragedy, I imagine, and that part I definitely don’t romanticize.