Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's hair

Confession time: In short, I am obsessed with lovely locks.

How long I spend of a morning doing my hair might be one of my most embarrassing qualities. I curl it, straighten it, tie it up, let it down and curl it again with only a spritz of hair protection spray left in that sad, exhausted little bottle. It was only last week - during my Bridget Jones-esque morning in which my (missed) bus splashed me with a muddy puddle on its way past (in bus language, that would have been a big old "told you so") - that I realised my hair obsession just must say a lot about me. I don't have particularly exciting hair - it's thin, just past my chest and layered to devastation - and I think that my curly extension habit might be the problem. I'm convinced that beautiful hair makes a beautiful person. Insane, I know.

It all started in my early-teen grunge stage (we've all been there) and I very wrongly thought that a huge hairsprayed fringe would look brilliant with short, choppy layers. Really. I hide in a groaning heap of shame every time I remember those days now, and once I finally decided the just-awoken-chipmunk look wasn't really working for me (the humidity of one Spanish summer helped move things along) the process of getting my layers evened out quite literally drove me to a night with my only company being John Mayer and ice cream.
But, I wanted to be one of those girls with long curly blonde center parts rather than the pink dip-dye and back combing I was sporting. The moral of the story? My hair is still in the short process of recovery. (I like to call it rehab.)

On to my original point, I kid you not - I am still in the days of deep (deep) longings for the hair of anybody with one-length locks. Candice Swanepoel? Can't even look at her. Cara Delevingne? Not a chance. Rosie Huntington Whiteley? I absolutely whimpered watching her in Transformers.

Rosie is my latest fixation, and I quite simply want her to swap heads with me. (Like I said, insane) However, since my mid-length (boring, boring, boring) hair has been dissatisfying me to within an inch of my life, I have been well and truly taken by Mollie King's new long bob. And I've been um-ing and ahh-ing for a while on whether or not to brave it and get the chop.

So what's stopping me from whacking off a few inches and channeling my inner Britney?

Quite simple: I can almost guarantee that I will walk away and quite literally cry at the sight of some poor stranger's lovely long tresses within no more than five minutes after leaving the hair salon.

Now, after letting that loose, I'll just sit back and wonder to myself: am I losing it?! Or, do you also have a covet to change the 'do' much much much too often, only to chicken out with Rosie Huntington-Whiteley induced regret? Someone, tell me I'm not alone over here...

Hankering thy neighbours hair,

Storm x