Miss Americana and The Hearbreak Princess

Chapter Twenty One - The Moment I Knew

What do you say

When tears are streaming down your face 

In front of everyone you know?

And what do you do

When the one who means the most to you

Is the one who didn't show?

-

"The next day I got bangs. God. The bangs, " Becca laughed, covering her face with her hands as she shook her head. "That American Vogue photoshoot was big, and on the first of December, I was there, on set, and they're talking over me about how my hair's going to be styled and what outfit is going with that look, and whether I should have a bolder eye, and I was sitting there and I couldn't have cared less. I was knackered, I was heartbroken. I missed Freen."

She rolled her eyes as she dropped her eyes and gave Mei a sheepish smile, her cheeks slightly pink. 

"And they were talking about how to give me these awful fake bangs which just did not look good, no matter how they tried to clip them in, so I told them to cut it. There's something very cathartic about changing your hair when you're going through some emotional struggles, and I think every woman figures that out at some point in their life, so I got a fringe."

"And straight hair, right?"

Wrinkling her nose, Becca nodded, "I did. They straightened it for the shoot and tried the clip-in bangs, and then after they cut it in properly, I called my hairstylist and got her to chemically straighten it all. At the time, it was like I was reliving the teen version of me who straightened my curls all the time because everyone else had straight hair and I wanted to fit in so badly, and it felt good. It was a nice change, and I didn't feel like me. I kept the straight hair for a while. Went through a whole range of fringes too. And now I've got my curls back."

"And you're you again?"

Letting out a quick laugh, Becca shrugged. 

"I suppose I'm more me than ever here, right now. And that feels better than any hairstyle."

"So we won't see you with a different hairstyle when this interview drops?"

Running a hand through her dark curls, Becca smiled. 

"Who knows. It's the start of a new era for me. An honest, open one. And that'll come with its own emotional struggles. I don't think I'll be bleaching my hair again though; that was... an experience I'm not too eager to repeat."

"Ah, bleachella. That was..."

"Rough. Not my finest moment, by far, for more than just the hair. But we'll get to that later."

"Right, but for now?"

Giving her a crooked smile, Becca leant back in her armchair, legs crossed at the knee and fingers steepled in front of her as she rested her elbows on the leather arms.

"I was about to turn twenty-two."

The day after Freen flew to London, Becca had her Vogue photoshoot. They straightened her wild curls and cut in a fringe and dressed her in vintage clothes while she lounged on sofas or draped herself against walls with guitars. 

It was exciting and stifling. It was Vogue. 

There we constant touch-ups with her hair and makeup, dozens of people scrambling around the set, dragging racks of rejected clothes, adjusting sets and calling out loudly the entire time. 

Beer and Nam were both there, watching silently from the sidelines or answering phones calls for other magazines, for other events and offers.

It was a long day of dazzling camera flashes, tense posing while trying to make it look effortless, constant toying with her new hair and missing Freen.