Your Hair is Your Head Suit

It's been over a year since I tortured us all by turning pictures of myself into monkeys and sketchy men, so I was primed and ready for some photoshoppin' fun over at Yearbook Yourself. And my friends, the pictures did not disappoint. A few of my favorites:

Boogie WonderLiz

Madame Lizbrarian

"Nobody Puts Lizzie in a Corner!"

More fun with head suits after the jump.

This journey begins in the good old days of yesteryear, when men were men and girls were all aging matrons. Remember ladies, never leave home without your finger waves and a shirt with a hideous collar.



The 1970's brought the women's lib movement. Important gains were made, including the rights to equal employment, salary, and feathered hair. The oppressive male patriarchy (and common sense) said "No no," but drunk hairstylists said "Yes yes!"

The following picture gets included because I think I'm rocking a variation of this style today.


See for yourself...maybe I should reconsider my 'do.
Ah, the AquaNet 80's. Were there any heights of hair stupidity that could not be scaled with a can of industrial-strength hairspray and a ratting comb? As a child I really, really wanted my hair to look like this.

I also dreamt of color-coordinated bright pink leggings and plastic earring combinations, though, so I was perhaps not the arbiter of good fashion sense I fancied myself back then.


Fortunately things calmed down in the late 1990's, but not soon enough to prevent an explosion of truly unfortunate bangs. I spent way too many years with my hair styled into limp, unattractive forehead noodles because I thought my forehead was too big to go uncovered. I have never felt more liberated than when I finally decided to grow them out--at age twenty. Twenty! That's two decades of blissful bangs-free existence I could have been living!