{i want to go to a nostalgia shop}

Two things of moment occurred yesterday.

First of all, I decided to grow out my hair. This is huge. I haven’t had hair past my chest since I was four years old. I have huge amounts of thick, wavy/curly, uncontrollable, bionic hair that I have been wrestling with since I was old enough to care what I look like (although my mother would argue that that day still hasn’t arrived). I even had it chemically straightened almost two years ago, with the understanding that it was so egregiously expensive that I would never do it again, and chopped it all off and added bangs. Even though I have gradually come to accept and even enjoy my curls, I am frequently quite sad that I cannot have bangs.

But this is all beside the point. Before straightening my hair, I had had the same mid-length layered haircut for approximately three years, since I had decided (after some unfortunate styles freshman year of high school) that it was the only safe choice. After straightening, I briefly went on a short-hair stint, being of the opinion that the less work I have to do to style it, the better a haircut is.

Now, however, I have decided to grow it out. This is almost entirely due to photos I’ve been finding on Pinterest of truly gorgeous long curly hair. Also, I believe that post-straightening, my hair has become slightly more obedient. I may even become super ambitious and invest in this. (An eBook? Shock upon shock!)

Also of interest yesterday was Midnight in Paris, the newest Woody Allen film. Having seen nothing by Woody save Sleeper and Matchpoint, both of which I rather disliked, I went into the viewing with some trepidation. My mother, who took me to see it, made swear months beforehand that I would not read any reviews about it or Google it or learn anything about it in any way before seeing it. My mother does this with all movies, and while I hardly ever agree with her, I will humor all those who share her beliefs by hiding my thoughts on the film behind a cut.

In other news, I walked to the bank today—about half an hour round trip. I wasn’t going to, but then I realized that I’m having knee surgery tomorrow and that trip is probably the longest one I’ll have for a good month or two. Ha.

In breaking her own rule, my mom informed me (after the film, of course) that a reviewer called Midnight in Paris “a movie for English majors.” I would more accurately deem it “a movie for literature lovers,” since I certainly drew heavily on my history (and French) minor while watching.

I very much enjoyed the portrayals of the historical figures—as Gil (Owen Wilson) notes, they are “just like everything you read about!” Particularly Hemingway and Zelda Fitzgerald, they tend to be larger-than-life caricatures in their speech, tending toward constant narration of their ideas and feelings. (For example, at one point Zelda comments something along the lines of “I’m suddenly bored. This atmosphere is making me lose focus.”) If, like my ex-boyfriend, you always associate Adrian Brody with his mediocre role in The Village, do not miss his hilarious portrayal of “Dali!

Gil’s penchant for times gone by reminded me of the book review of Retromania I read a couple of weeks ago. I count myself among those who look back with nostalgia at more disease-ridden times (history minor? No duh), so the film was a nicely metaphorical trip through Memory Lane for me. I will admit that Gil and Adriana’s respective decisions at the film’s closing were both a little heart-rending for me.

What do you think? In Gil and Adriana’s shoes, what would you have chosen? Do you agree with Simon Reynolds, author of Retromania, that “there has never been a society in human history so obsessed with the cultural artifacts of its own immediate past” as America today?


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