I can’t pinpoint exactly when my irrational affection for Britney Spears began. I remember watching “…Baby One More Time” on TRL, but I’m not sure it goes back that far. Maybe it started at a school dance, when I requested “Oops!… I Did It Again.” Or it just might have to do with the fact that I can also enjoy an entire family size bag of Cheetos now and again.
I do know that when Britney stopped by The Late Show with David Letterman last November, rocking a sleek new haircut and a hotter body than we’d seen in quite a while, I cheered. In fact, I was inspired. Thanks to the aforementioned bags of Cheetos, I wasn’t looking so hot myself at the time, but if Britney could pull herself together, I could find my way back to the gym, too!
And when she dumped K-Fed the very next day, I really began to hope. “I’m so proud of her,” I told my suitemates. “In fact,” I declared, “if she comes out with a new album, I will seriously buy it.”
Well, you know what happened next. There was drinking, bloating, shaving her head, in rehab, out of rehab, ridiculous wigs, more rehab. And those are just the highlights. Her “comeback” mini-tour wasn’t exactly encouraging, either.
At the very least, I was optimistic about her hair. After all the cheap extensions and switching from blonde to brunette every few days, I thought shaving it all off was a blessing in disguise. Haven’t we all made reckless decisions that damaged our hair, and wished we could just start fresh?
But then, just as soon as her two-inch tresses were long enough, the bleach and the bad extensions were back again. For me, this may have been the final betrayal. Haven’t you learned anything, Britney? Anything at all? Evidently not.
And yet, somehow, there is still a part of me that dares to dream. Please, Britney, I know you have it in you. Years ago, it was your bare midriff that motivated my daily crunches. Just leave your hair alone for a while, okay? I’m still rooting for you.