A Quote by Guy Fieri
My spiked hair goes back about 15 years ago. I had long, curly rocker hair then. The woman who cuts my hair thought I needed a new style, so I let her surprise me. I flipped when I first saw it, but I soon realized the look was really me. I've always been a little crazy.
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When I was in school, I got there on the first day and everyone had long, blonde, straight hair, and I had short, dark, curly hair. I immediately felt I didn't fit in and started growing my hair. But I've learned that I'm only happy when I am truly me and feel comfortable and confident in myself.
I have hair that I audition with, my sitcom hair which is a curly wig. I have my long chic hair that I wear to my son's school so they know I'm not playing around. I always tell people that my husband gets a different woman every night when I come home from 'The View.' Hair makes you feel a certain way, like putting a power suit on.
It's taken me 40-something years, but I embrace the curl. My littlest daughter has the same hair. She likes it when my hair is curly, so I wear it for her.
I've been wanting to be sponsored by some kind of hair product for a long time. I have a lot of hair, and it goes through a lot in my training camps anyways, so having some kind of great hair sponsor would probably be awesome for me. I'm kind of hard on my hair, but I think I have nice hair.
So I'm not crazy after all! I thought it looked good myself once I cut it all off. Not one guy likes it, though. They all tell me I look like a first grader or a concentration camp survivor. What's this thing that guys have for girls with long hair? Fascists, the whole bunch of them! Why do guys all think girls with long hair are the classiest, the sweetest, the most feminine? I mean, I myself know at least two hundred and fifty unclassy girls with long hair. Really.
I don't exactly fit well in leather pants, so I don't rock that look. I lost my hair a long time ago, so no hair-metal look, either. I had hair down to my belly button at one point, but I think that was the '90s.
I went through a real punk stage-I had braids, red hair, pink hair, green hair, I cut it into a Mohawk, the lot. Then about five years ago, I dyed it dark and stayed out of the sun to get pale, because I hated looking like everyone else, all blonde hair and tanned skin.
As a young girl, I definitely struggled with knowing what to do with my hair. I was just in a neighborhood that had mostly white people, and the hair norm was long and sleek and straight. My hair naturally was curly, and I didn't have that many references.
There's not one woman in America who does not care about her hair, but we give it way too much value. We deprive ourselves of things, we use it to destroy each other, we'll look at a child and judge a mother and her sense of motherhood by the way the child's hair looks. I am not going to traumatize my child about her hair. I want her to love her hair.
I have crazy, curly, big hair, so,if I have time to try to make myself look presentable, I usually spend it doing my hair.
I had my hair down for a long time. I shaved my head, you know, a couple of years ago. And, then, I started to wear my hair short, and I thought that was cool. But, at the same time, I never want to put rules down on me and say, 'OK, I do this for this and this for that.' I just don't like rules. I don't.
My hair story has been unique because my mom's a German Jew, so her hair is way different than my hair. She was always learning on my hair growing up, but I would sit there for hours, and she did learn how to braid hair. Early on, it was a lot of tears while my mom was braiding my hair.
It's a classic love story: me and my hair. I have loved my hair. I have betrayed my hair. My hair and I have gone through this long, gut-wrenching relationship.
In 'Thor,' that was my own hair. I grew it out. But I have naturally curly, blonde hair, so I'll never look like that. By the time I got to 'The Avengers,' I had come off two other films, which required me to have it very short. So I dyed it again and it was long enough to use a part of my hairline.
Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someone's hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted--wanting to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don't look at me. If you don't, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me.
For so many years, I was trying to beat my hair into submission, trying to get it to look like someone else's hair, and I didn't know how. I remember going through a phase where I even put beer in my hair, because I was told that would make it smooth and curly.
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