I started dating this man I really like, but he has a MAN BUN. Man buns are my nemesis. He’s cute and kind, but I want to take a pair of scissors to his hair when he’s sleeping and chop it off. I don’t mind long hair on men, but when I see a man bun, I see red.
— Trend, trend, go away
Whoa. If you’re having hair-murder tendencies over a frizz biscuit, we need to 5150 your ass into a swift psychiatric hold.
Breathe. Wax on. Smoke the valium.
Don’t cut his hair. Besides a professional, or my own trembling hands, if anyone else took shears to my mane, I’d cut you. (Metaphorically. Blood stains and I hate doing laundry.) As would most humans. (Except for our siblings whom many of us have butchered a jagged ‘do before, much to our mothers’ chagrin.)
Like oversized wayfarer rims, Bumpits or camel-toed leggings, we all latch to styles that will rotate. From flocks of seagulls to beehives, and the tonsure to the Donald, and the mullet to the perm, we’re bound to forever watch in shock as ridiculous shit takes its ring around the cranium. (Please bring the tonsure back.)
So your dude likes wearing his hair long.
Have you ever taken a bite of your Snarf’s and swallowed a hunk of mop? It’s fuzzy gross. (I’d rather eat a dog hair sandwich.) Your Man Bun probably also likes to keep his food hair-free, and — like our pal Buddha — he remedies this by channelling Harry Styles. Plus, his luscious locks probably make his neck sweat. I have nearly a dozen black sheep that graze on top of my head all day and sometimes it gets roasty under this beast.
Or he could be chasing trends, but who cares? There are worse traits in a dude. If this is your sole complaint on a nice, cute guy, your next search could prove endless. And if you dump Man Bun and do find a new guy, I hope he has a weave in his butt hair.
My mom spilled coffee on my wedding dress when she picked it up from the tailor. My wedding isn’t until July, but I am so upset. Wedding dresses are so hard to clean, what if it doesn’t come out? That’s almost four grand down the drain.
Right before I walked down the bar aisle, I dripped red liquid lipstick down the front of my dress. As I didn’t have five months to remedy the situation, I held my bouquet and a constant glass of whiskey over the stain.
You have five months, sugar. There’s always a remedy. Call Siri or Tony Robbins for a little pep talk.
Don’t be upset with your mom, she was doing you a favor. Your wedding can be as wonderful as you create it or as horrible as you shape it. If you let the small stuff take control, you’ll be one pretty panic attack on the your big day. Just relax and take things one day at a time. Start by googling dry cleaners. Everything will be OK.
Or, you can stain the entire dress coffee colored and tell everyone you’re the village bicycle. But first, kick yourself in the crotch for buying a wedding dress that cost $4,000.