I used to be a hairdresser.
I'm often criticised for what I wear. That's my main label in the press now: disastrous dresser!
Talking to your hairdresser is almost like talking to your therapist,
I had a great childhood. Even though I never had my own room - I shared the porch with my grandfather and kept my belongings in one drawer of a dresser that was jammed next to the piano - I never went hungry and was always supported by my family.
When I'm at an event, I like to be an eccentric dresser. I will just keep wearing what I like.
I have a scar on my forehead. I was three years old, jumping on the bed with my brothers, and I fell off and hit my head on the dresser and cut it open, went to the hospital, got stitches, came home, went back on the bed, jumped with my brothers, fell again, and reopened the stitches.
A hairdresser holds a trusted place in a woman's life
As bad a dresser as I am, anything beats being judged by my character.
I can be a lazy dresser.
I suppose I'm something of an eccentric dresser.