Thousands of hairstylists, barbers and quacks have all remarked at what baby fine, silky hair I have. I guess they had to say something nice when they were actually thinking, "Oh My God, what am I going to do with this?" One person with scissors in hand told me that it actually takes five or six haircuts before a stylist could know how to cut your hair according to how it grows and lays. Swell - a haircut a month for six months and I might be able to go out in public.
As a small child I wanted to look like Annie Oakley in the Saturday morning TV westerns or Princess Summer Fall Winter Spring in Howdy Dowdy with beautiful thick braids. My Mother had other ideas........
It seemed like every Saturday afternoon a Toni Home Permanent appeared and I knew what was in store for me. How a hat for church on Sunday ever stayed over all those kinky curls I really don't know.
By the time I was in the third grade my Mom had gone to work full time. Lucky me as it cut down on the smelly awful Saturday night perms. Various short hairstyles took the place of the Shirley Temple look. The short haircuts were mostly at my request after seeing a movie with Jean Seberg in it with her "pixie" haircut. What was that about five or six haircuts? Must have gone to a new stylist every time.
My fairy Godmother must have waved a magic wand over me just before the picture in the ninth grade. I don't remember ever having my short hair look that good. Did they photoshop in 1960? This was also the time when I discovered that if I combined a little bit of Hydrogen Peroxide thru my hair every morning it sort of turned blond. My hair seemed to have a little more body and Mom thought it was all due to the sun.
There were attempts at letting my hair grow out in hopes I could get those braids. Lucky for me the dog ate those pictures. You see, the fact is that my hair is rather like a dog's. It will only grow so long and then it stops. Stop and think about that - have you ever seen a Boxer or a Lab dragging hair behind it down the sidewalk?
The greatest thing that ever happened to me was the Bubble hairdo that became popular in the sixties when I was in high school and college. It was awesome! I could spend every sleeping and waking moment at home in curlers. Then backcomb, rat and spray my hair in hopes that it would not go flat before school or a date was over. If by chance school and a date happened on the same day, curlers had to be used in between.
I did try a "Sassoon" in the go-go-boot days. It was one of those short on one side, long on the other side styles. That caused my "then" husband to take one look at me when I went to pick him up, slam the door and walk away. Oh well, hair does grow back - eventually.
Then there was the"Shag" which did not make me look much like Farrah Fawcett. Then the really shaggy. And how could I not try the Afro? Actually the Afro was the worst of my experiments but I was married, had two children, a small business and going to college. I needed a break from blow dryers, hot rollers, regular rollers, curling irons and hairspray.
In the seventies when wigs became popular I was in seventh heaven. My salvation, put on a beautiful wig and look like I just steeped out of a magazine. Wrong again. They did not look bad as I purchased a couple of expensive ones. I just felt bad. It was like having a helmet on my head? It was like I was pretending I was someone else? I had trouble even functioning. But I saved them. Good thing I did as one came in handy later.
In the eighties, quite by accident I got into skating in an ice show. That is a whole other story but the great thing about the ice show was that all the costumes came with elaborate hats. Never did you have to show your hair. Except one year we did a seventies number that only consisted of a headband. Now look - the hair was as short as it could be to stuff into all the hats plus it was mashed flat by the time the seventies number rolled around. In dress rehearsal I was mortified that I was the only one without decent hair. But - I remembered the wigs. Opening night I appeared on ice with a long wig and a headband.
When I came off the ice the show director grabbed my arm and wanted to know who I was. He quickly realized it was the person who had been at the rink everyday for the last six months but with great hair. My crowning moment. I had HAIR!
My last attempt at being "in" with a hairstyle was about twelve years ago. Marshell and I were at a car show and this kid had the cutest spiked hair I had seen. I asked him if I could take a picture of him and he said sure. The picture went to my current hair person and she agreed to do it. I got a cut, a spike and twenty dollars worth of goo. Pretty nifty and I was pleased - - until the next day when I tried to fix it. No amount of effort could make it look like anything but someone who stuck their finger in an electrical socket.
I have given up. My hair is what it is and I will keep trying to accept it. Not going to say that I don't want to slap other women when they complain about their long, thick or too curly hair. Not going to say that I don't want to cut those bouncy ponytails off when they make some statement about how much trouble their hair is. Maybe in my next life I will have "Dolly Parton" hair and hate every strand of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment