"Robin" wrote this in response to my post about having vile knotty beach hair the other day.
"I think beach hair is great. There isn't much in his world better than a girl who's hair is normally meticulously blow dried and has airbrushed spray tan skin getting a bit of salt in her hair and red on her nose. Dipping in the cool salty water will wash off that veil of makeup that society demands she wear to conform to it's sense of beauty.
The beach is the place where the real natural look prevails, it seperates the girls I would want to see at night after a few beers from the girls I would want to see first thing in the morning.
But what would I know, I'm just a surfer."
Good lord, does he have a point. He really does.
But, see, maybe i didn't articulate my point. Cause I do agree with ol' Robby Rob Rob.
I'm all for the natural look. Case in point: All i've worn is Megan Gale's Invisible Zinc broad spectrum SPF 30 tinted moisturiser (AMAZING stuff: A dewy finish and literally everything you need on your face when you're going into that nasty ol' sun) and lip gloss for a week. And it's been glorious.
(Night time different: dinner earns blush, kohl and some pretty lashes.)
BUT, when i want to flip the script and ramp up the ladylike, my hair won't behave. Which is why i offered tips on how to soothe and tame the salt-destroyed beast. That's all. Tips to help, not rules to folllow. I want the kids to relax on holidays. Get a little bold. Skip the foundy. Drop the bronzer. Forget about the shadow. It's a beautiful thing. Especially the wavy, crunchy beach hair. But Robby, that shit be hard to get perfect. Especially if you've been wearing a hat. Or haven't washed it for a few days.
Bah, whatever. The fruits will decide for themselves how feral they want to get.
Oh and a little side dish about the whole cute surfer girl myth.
This whole surfing thing has made my legs look like I'm a street walker with a habit and an abusive boyfriend called 'Mutt'. I've got huge fin-caused bruises on my knees and my shins, a sterling rash on my thighs and stomach, and invisible sea creature bites everywhere. Which is VERY PRETTY when I slip on, oooh, anything aside of jeans/tracksuit pants/a lobster suit.
Seems you're the glamorous girl laying on the beach, or you're the bedraggled swamp monster trying to surf.
I'm having more fun, but she's looking waaay better.
AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE 567, 890 NEW FRECKLES.
DAMMIT.
