Tuesday, April 10, 2007

My Formerly Petulant Hair

Okay, so my hair was never Cousin Itt proportions, but some days it sure felt like it. Travel with me back to the late 80's, when big hair was all the rage. I was in hair heaven. I had big, curly hair, and it was mainly achieved without any product. The girls from Long Island in my dorm were extremely envious. Some of those girls probably still have the same exact hair I had way back when.

Then the 90's got rolling, and fashions changed, like they do. Before I knew it, everyone had sleek, straight, blown-out hair. Women were spending plenty of quality time with their blow dryers. And being the cranky, mildly rebellious sort, I refused to take that kind of time grooming every morning. I had always been a wash and wear kinda gal, and the changing tide wasn't about to sway me. Besides, standing in front of the mirror, fighting my naturally curly hair, actually breaking a sweat, was not how I wanted to spend my time in the morning. If it meant I would lose a half an hour of sleep in the morning (closer to an hour with my frizz bomb), you could count on me passing on that option.

Not to belittle anyone who took the time for such an endeavor. I spied the ladies on the street with that smooth, silky hair, and felt a twinge of envy, knowing I didn't have the dedication to get to that level of shininess. The only time you ever saw me looking like that, was after a haircut, when I would happily let a professional do the work.

I was determined to find a way to let my curl fly free. For a long time I had to improvise. Mousses and hairsprays and and whatever I could find. After a while, I became dejected and kinda let my hair go. I became dry and brittle. Frizzy and limp. I didn't really know what the solution would be. And then the 90's rolled over into a new century, and slowly, product for girls with curly hair started appearing on the shelves. It was a whole new world. My curl wasn't being ignored anymore, but I still couldn't find a stylist who had any idea what to do with my fine but boingy hair.

Enter my mother. A woman who hadn't paid for a haircut in 50 years. After a traumatic hair-cutting fiasco, she swore to never go back and took her hair into her own hands. But after a while, she too was becoming dissatisfied with her thick, straight hair. She had had enough, and decided to go get a real haircut, from a swank, high end salon. And she wanted to take me with her!

To say Donna, of the Eva Scrivo Salon, is a genius would to not even begin explain what she did with my hair. Shanks that insisted on falling into my face were suddenly behaving and laying away from my eyes. Formerly weak waves were transformed into soft, bouncy curls. I was amazed. I was stunned. I had my lovely, curly hair back under control.
The final joyous moment of getting back my curly hair? I was out at a bar a couple of days after Donna's magic, and a totally random guy said, "Can I just tell you, your hair is awesome." My friend Fran and I looked at each other and giggled. Finally, my hair is lovely again.

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