I love the Cannes Film Festival. From the lavish parties and events to the red carpet attire, this star-studded week-long event is where I get a lot of inspiration for hair and fashion.
I'm not really sick of people whipping their hair. It doesn't really get old. They're fans and I love them! It's just a fun game to play.
I've been out with men who have literally had an argument with the mirror because they couldn't get their hair right. When I was younger, I might have reassured him, but I can't do that anymore.
This head has risen above its hair in a moment of abandon known only to men who have drawn their feet out of their boots to walk awhile in the corridors of the mind.
Most men somewhere in their psyche are still dragging women around by their hair. It's terrible. I have two daughters, but even before my kids were born I always thought that it was terrible.
The men and women cut their hair close round to the ears and eyes. The women, after the manner of the Parthians, cover their heads with a large white veil, folded together in the form of a crown.
Really hairy backs on men turn me off. I'm not into the ape thing at all. Or beer bellies and flabby arms, either. Also, one random nose hair which is longer than the others... that's gross.
My mom would put me in these preppy little suits and slick my hair to the side. I have these baby pictures of me where I'm this little preppy kid with a sweater tied around my neck.
There was a point - when I was a kid - where I said I wanted to be like Luke Skywalker, with blond hair and blue eyes. My mom right there told me to never be ashamed of who I am.
For six months I'd do movies and make it all about me. Then the other six months, it's not about me and it doesn't matter what my hair looks like or what anything looks like.
Charlie: I could tell you stories to curl your hair, but it looks like you've already heard 'em.
I must say also that it's never worked to my disadvantage that I have long, blond hair.
When a woman isn't beautiful, people always say, 'You have lovely eyes, you have lovely hair.'
When you are at the Olympic Games, it comes down to a ten thousandth of a hair between making the next round or winning a race or getting second or third.
If the hairs on my neck stand up while I'm writing, I figure the reader will get the same kind of shock.
At the end of the week, it's nice to just hang out in a pair of jeans and let my hair down. I need a break from all that fashion!
A few small changes in your DNA can turn your eyes blue, make you lactose intolerant or put some curl in your hair.
I'm naturally a mousy blonde, so I dye my hair, and my eyebrows would disappear if I didn't get through at least a pencil a month.
Dyeing my hair has become a kind of addiction. I can't see myself as anything other than blond. Once you go blond, you stay blond forever.
Hair excited me. As the old ways - backcombing, rollers and rigidity - went out of the window, I started to feel the possibilities in front of my eyes.
In grammar school some of the girls had problems with me. My face was too light. My hair was too long. It was the black-consciousness period, and I felt really bad.
