Crush That Girl

Everyone has a girl crush. Guys and gay girls, sure, but everyone else too–straight girls and gay guys and the people who fall somewhere in between. See, the reason is that a “girl crush” doesn’t have to be sexual, and usually isn’t, so EVERYONE has one. Girls are magical creatures, kind of like unicorns but with soft lips and shiny hair instead of a weird deformity in the middle of their head. Personally, I think it’s impossible not to have a crush on at least one.

Mine is my girl Candice, which I agree is probably narcissistic since I’ve been compared to her on more than one occasion. But far be it from me to make Girl Crush rules–if your girl crush happens to be the fox you see in the mirror every day, more power to you. But COME ON–look at Ms. Swanepoel. I don’t care who you are, she is gorge.

Now, I pretty much have a GC on Candy because she looks like a human Barbie and she has a really awesome accent that should be used to record soothing fall-asleep tapes. And girl has some serious yoga flex. But usually, people’s Girl Crushes are a little more complex. Take the most girl-crushed-upon girl of all time, the indie darling Zooey Deschanel.

Now, yes, people like Zooey for her looks. As with most (but not all) girl crushes, it’s all about appearance. Zooey is a normal-looking pretty girl with big boobs, so naturally a lot of people like her. But toss on the thick bangs, vintage dresses, and the occasional pair of quirky-cute glasses, and Zooey is the world’s Girl Crush extraordinaire. I’m not hating at all, I just don’t happen to have a GC on Zooey so that drooling, hearts-a-pitter-patter feeling Crushers have is absent in me. Which means I find it a little annoying when people squeal, “Ugh, I just love Zooey, she’s so unique!”

That brings us to…the dark side of Girl Crushes. When you have a total GC on someone, and your best friend says, “Oh, really? I don’t like her,” and you stare daggers into them because OBVIOUSLY THE PERSON YOU CRUSH ON IS PERFECT…yeah, that’s when it’s gone too far. Then you need to stop bidding on their used tissues on eBay, making a scrapbook of their tabloid appearances, and doodling their surname in your checkbook. A girl crush is just that–a crush. Obsession? Come on, now you’re just creepy!

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Girl of the Week: Daisy Lowe

Okay, I have a teeny-tiny confession to make: I don’t do a “Girl of the Week” thing on the Wild Hearts. If you’re a regular reader (ha! Regular readers? What are those!) you probably read that title and thought to yourself, “Oh, shut it. Stop trying to be cool and pretend you have features on your blog. You just ramble.” (Wow, did you really just think that? You’re kind of mean. Maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on me, and then I would do features!) Oops, this is spiraling out of control. What I’m trying to say is that if I did do a “Girl of the Week” column, I’d pick Daisy Lowe.

That’s her. If you’re not familiar, Daisy is a model-slash-one of those people who’s famous for being attractive and quirky. Her mother is Pearl Lowe, and her dad is that guy who’s married to Gwen Stefani, which is weird. But why am I writing about her, you ask? BECAUSE I LOVE GWEN STEFANI’S HUSBAND AND ANYTHING TO DO WITH HIM, OBVIOUSLY. Just kidding, that’s a lie. I don’t even know his name (although Wikipedia does).

No, I love Daisy Lowe because of her style, and the fact that she has an adorable British accent and is weird. I like weird people. When I was looking her up to find photos for this thrilling post, I found a spread in i-D magazine where she was posing, topless, with her then-boyfriend, and in like 96.8% of the pictures he was sucking on le nips. Not that I’m saying that’s so awesome, but it’s cool that she just doesn’t really care.

I mean, to be honest, I’ll probably like anybody with odd boho style and bangs, but Daisy Lowe has some extra sprinkling of cool dust. (Okay, I think it’s just the bangs. But still.)

Also, I like her versatility (and that, for a model, she’s not a bone). She can look all normal and cute, and then she can model for Agent Provocateur and it’s like a completely different person. But the whole time, she still seems like the same person. Does that make sense? I’m not sure. It was kind of hard to think of things to write in between photos, since this post was basically an excuse to be like, “Gahh! Look at Daisy Lowe! Don’t you love her clothes and her hair?” Anyway, that’s why Daisy Lowe got the prestigious “Girl of the Week” award! Yeah, whatever. Here’s another picture.

DIY (Unless You Hang-Glide)

I’m not sure if I’ve ever written about this before, but I have never gotten a manicure. Or a pedicure. Never ever ever. Even for prom, I did my own nails, and at a friend’s wedding recently I was frantically sticking on Lee Press-On Nails (because I’m just that classy) in the car on the way there.

Not only that, but I can count the amount of times I’ve gotten my hair professionally done on one finger (read: once–also for prom), and I would be surprised if I’ve gotten my hair cut at a salon more than ten times. Which is admittedly really weird. Especially coming from me, a Girl Who Loves Prettiness and Clothes and All That Stuff.

Somehow, though, I have just become the do-it-yourselfer of beauty. I cut my own bangs (and pretty much just let the rest of my hair flow free and wild like a majestic lion’s mane) and I paint my own nails. I highlighted my hair by myself for the first time when I was thirteen, and I haven’t looked back since. And I am pretty great at doing my own makeup.

So, what is my point? I don’t have one. Except that I was thinking it was weird I’ve never had a manicure. But given my extensive hobbies (playing the Wii, scraping my nails on a chalkboard, getting into fisticuffs on the regular, hang-gliding) I know I’d just chip my nail polish in four seconds anyway, and then I would be out $20 and have chipped nails.

A Post About Shannyn Sossamon and My Hair

I did it! I made the cut. I am the proud new owner (wearer? Haver?) of side bangs. Which I cut all by myself, thankyouverymuch! All it took was a YouTube video and some special haircutting scissors lent to me by the roomie, and violà! I actually like it, although I felt like I was in ‘Nam while I was doing it. I was shaking and breathless with each snip, like I was doing open-heart surgery on my head, and I was hyper-aware of every sound because I was afraid someone was gonna come knock on the door and scare me into chopping off a giant piece. But it was worth the war flashbacks because I really like it.

In other important Wild Hearts news, I, um, hmmmm, well fuck. I don’t have any other important news. It’s kinda sad that my hairstyle is my only important bulliten. I guess I’ll have to make some things up.

I saw a three-headed duck eating a pastrami sandwich! Toddlers have overrun my campus and are now teaching all the classes! Shannyn Sossamon and I are now best friends!

I kinda wish that last one was real. I don’t really know what me and Shannyn Sossamon would do if we were besties, but I know it would be awesome. (One of my friends just told me they got to interview her over the phone, and that was my question: Was she awesome? I don’t even know why I asked since the answer is obviously yes.)

I’m off to buy thousands of textbooks and waste all my hard-earned money, so th-th-that’s all for now, folks! I know you’re really upset that my nonsensical ramblings are done for the day, but don’t cry, there’s always more crazy.

Scissoring

I am considering getting a haircut. (Ahhh, see what I did there? With the title? And you perverts thinking it was a sex thing? But really it was about scissors, because of…okay, yeah, I think you got it.)

Seriously, though, I want one. I am trying to grow my hair out, so I don’t really want them to touch the ends. I just want a sort of side bangs-that-meld-with-the-rest-of-my-hair thing. Kinda like this:

Or maybe something like this:

There are two problems with this brilliant idea of mine, however. Number One is that I am scared. I have had some seriously bad haircutting experiences, including a hairdresser who yelled at me the entire time for straightening my hair (“I can tell you do it. I mean, it’s really obvious. These dead ends…God! Seriously, you need to not do that. It’s so bad for your hair. I mean, your hair is really damaged. Like, really damaged.” Why do you think I’m getting a haircut, genius?) and about fifty whose idea of a “little trim” is scalping me. And Number Two is that I have really fine, thin hair and I’m not sure that it’ll look anything like how I want it to.

So, if it doesn’t work out, I have a backup plan: a blonde-and-blue mullet.

Secretly, I’m just hoping I can finagle some way to side-sweep the hair I already do have into that cool side-bangs thing. I mean, I have shorter hair in the front, so what is their secret? Hairspray? Crisco? Newt’s eyes? Some kind of lube-and-Elmer’s glue concoction? This better not be like the mysterious Coca-Cola formula, because I wanna know.