Monday, August 31, 2009

Rusty Dreads.

In order to prove there is still some superficial, contradictory New Yorker in me, I must post this before heading off to the Third World.

My hair guy, the beloved Angel Hair God, has been working feverishly over the past year to perfect my color that I like to call 'Weathered Steel'. I think he has hit the mark. As I walked out of the salon today, he said "God doesn't make many mistakes, but not making you this color was one of them".



[Images from left to right: a piece of Cor-Ten I weathered on my fire escape, my new doo, Cor-Ten at The High Line (while it was still under construction), and the lovely colors of Ms. Frida Kahlo]

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