Dear Joan Jett Look-Alike on the Northern Line,
I have something to tell you. It may be upsetting, but I really think it’s best that you know now that you look silly. I’m really just hoping that you can minimise your embarrassment.
You have a Joan Jett haircut. Circa 1985. Sweetie, you’re around fifteen years old. You probably don’t even know who Joan Jett is. You weren’t even born in 1985. You were born in about 1990. That upsets me, because it makes me feel old, but that’s not really your concern. You concern should be that you have silly hair.
I know what you’re going to say. You’re “rock”. You’re “retro”. You’re “individual”. You’re “just being you”.
I don’t mean to be cruel, but those are stupid reasons. You’re not being individual. You’re being manipulated by a hairdresser with too much time on her hands. This woman is obviously sadistic and somewhat evil, and you really need to keep your distance. I can only hope you didn’t pay too much for your silly, silly hair.
If only I could put a dime in the jukebox, baby, and turn back time to get you a better haircut. But, sadly, I can’t. I’m sure you’re a rock chick. I’m sure you are. I saw your friends, and I see your need to differentiate yourself from their bland girl band same-y trendiness. I get that. I’m pickin’ up what you’re puttin’ down.
But, sweetie. Really. There are so, so many far, far, far less painful ways to do that.
I approve of your need to be individual. I think it’s fab. And, so I’m not going to make any suggestions for your new look.
Okay, that’s totally not true. I’m going to make one suggestion. Get a new hairdresser.
Good luck, sweetie. I’m sure you’re going to be a super stylin’ vixen when you grow up. Just consider this a failed attempt. We all make mistakes. Better luck next time.