Sunday, November 15, 2009

Only I Could Devote an Entire Post to My Hair

It’s Sunday and I actually took the time to blow dry my hair and sit in front of the mirror for a few minutes. I don’t do this much during the week; I seem to have hair elastics and clips in every room of the house to sweep it all out of my way. As I looked at my reflection I noticed that the gray is definitely on the march. I started coloring it myself a year or so ago but it just doesn’t last like a professional job. There are a few out there who’ve told me I should just let it all go but man, I’m only 39 (for a few more weeks at least) and see no call for being Drastic. Besides, if I stopped coloring it completely the end result would be very skunkesque.

My hair is big old pain the rear end. I’m thankful I have hair in general and specifically I’m thankful it’s not thin. No doubt about it, I’m thankful for those two items. The thing is, I probably have the hair of three or four people. A heartless hair stylist once told me it was like horse hair. It’s thick and unruly and left to its own devices it frizzes out like, well, I don’t know. I can’t think of a good comparison. It’s just big and frizzy. So I either pull it back or straight iron the living daylights out of it.

When I was a kid my parents had no idea what to do with this hair. It was clearly “Arnold” hair but my dad kept his short enough to not be troubled by it. Mom had beautiful straight hair down clear down her back (she always told me to be grateful mine would take a curl). Despite the crazy hair, my parents had this unnatural affinity for short hair on me.

When I was old enough to pay attention and tired enough of being mistaken for a boy, I opted to grow my hair. They always commented that it must be awfully hot under all that. It was but I stuck to my guns.

My first memories of hair products are from some time in middle school. They existed and I tried them all but none of them really made a difference. I finally resorted to ironing my hair on my mom’s ironing board. I don’t know what possessed me to try it but the results were so good (aside from the split ends) I did it all the time. I could totally fake having normal hair! Eventually I found the Holy Grail of hair devices one day at the mall. I was wandering through a beauty supply store and found myself in the aisle designated for black hair products. I found myself looking at something I’d never seen before: A flat iron.

I couldn’t believe my eyes! I’d never even heard of such a contraption! I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

So, lots of years go by and I’ve sort of figured out the whole mousse, gel, thermal protectant, etc. deal but my hair is still confusing. The current confusion is What’s Next?

40’s coming and I have a cut and color appointment with a FABULOUS woman on Saturday (the ONLY person who’s ever cut and styled my hair in such a way that I didn’t go straight home to wash and style it all over again). What I’m trying to figure out is this: Do I keep on keeping on with the longish thing or do I try something different and go shortish? For some reason, in my mind, I’ve connected short hair and 40-something women. Do I dare go with something I can’t pull back? I’m feeling a little chicken but really it is just hair, right?
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