Even heathens and pagans know this one:
A guy named Paul, a whole long time ago, found a scroll and a quill and, over a leisurely cup of red wine, asserted that “a woman’s hair is her crowning glory.”
For completely non-biblical reasons–who is this Paul to me, after all?–I’ve often believed that this assertion is true. I love the hair on The Ladies. Even in the midst of several years of sobbing that no one would ever love me, an enduring belief in the power of my hair often pulled me through. Loneliness was counterbalanced by my excitement over follicular sheen and gloss.
I’m all superficial that way.
So riddle me this:
If I love the locks, how can I be completely convinced that should fado singer Mariza ever grow out her hair, it would be an affront to humanity and the heavens?
Because seriously? She got it all goin’ on. Hair? Would interfere with her beauty, charisma, and dynamism.
Who needs it?