Hair Despair

Well I just realized that this will be my 102nd blog post. Boy howdy, that seems like a lot! When you think about how long I have had this little corner it does not seem that surprising I guess. But it is a little exciting. For me. And that is all that matters, when you really break it down. So HOORAY for me. And a big squishy thank you to you for reading all this silly drivel I like to share.

ANYWAY....

On to more important topics. Like my new haircut. Yeah I said it. My new haircut will be the subject of my 102nd blog post. Riveting, truly. But this is not just about my haircut. It is about every haircut I have ever had. It is about how awful one person can actually be at doing her own hair.

Our story begins circa 1987 or so. About the time I entered the 3rd grade. My mother had never done more with my limp, stringy locks than put them in a simple ponytail or if she was feeling really adventurous...two of them. I am pretty sure she is the one who passed on to me the "lack-of-skill-at-girly-things" gene that stops me from having a fashion sense, being able to wear high heels for more than an hour at a time, applying makeup properly, and of course--styling my own hair. (She also passed on her kindness, compassion, strength and ingenuity. So I made out like a bandit nonetheless.)

Around this time--3rd grade or so--young children begin to actually notice their differences and celebrate them...as cruelly as possible. So I think my mother had the best intentions when she dragged me into a salon to get my rat's nest of a mop combed out and see what we could do with it. I am sure she did not want to give those kids a reason to tease me any more then they were already planning to. My knotted greasy mess of hair certainly would not help the situation. She decided to go with what everyone at the time was doing (hey, it was the 80s after all). She got me a perm.

Now, the perm was super cute when leaving the salon. It made my fine, flat hair kinky and full, gave me the volume women dream of, and seemed relatively easy to manage--just spray and scrunch and go! However, the perm completely fell out of my hair within weeks and I was back to straight and flat once again. My mother was determined to get the perm to take. She must have taken me back to that salon every few months for at least a year. Same thing always happened--perm took hours to create, then took only hours to disappear. It was pretty amazing.

Eventually my mother grew tired of attempting to force my hair to be something it wasn't. I think it was at that point that we both just sort of gave up. I played sports and tended to keep my hair in tight ponytails anyway, or there was that great side ponytail phase everyone was into that suited me just fine through the late 80s and early 90s. It was all good. Except that I looked like a real tool through most of my formative years. But then again--who doesn't? Right? Riiiiight?

Fast forward to my later college years. I stumbled upon an amazing BFF who was not only fabulous and fun as hell, but he was also really good at hair! I could not believe my luck! If he was not cutting and dying my hair, he was experimenting and styling it so that I would look like a normal, dare I say pretty girl, all dolled up and looking good all the time. It was great! Remembering those days right now, I can honestly say with confidence that those were some of the best-looking days of my life thus far. Wow. I think I almost shed a tear. Why did I ever move away from that man?

Fast forward again, say...7 years. I am now 30 years old. I have not had my BFF stylist around in 7 years and it shows. I wander from stylist to stylist, hoping someone will finally understand my hair and help me figure out how to make it look nice on my own. Oh sure, there have been some who came close. There are always those who gave me what we both thought was the perfect cut . But once I left the salon, once my hair's fate rested in my fumbling hands...well, you know how that ends. You see, the stylist has that gene. That thing inside most women that tells them innately how to braid hair or use a curl brush properly. Me? I do not have it. AT ALL. And so I leave the salon feeling like a million bucks, go out that night and get tons of compliments, feel awesome about my hair future, and then BAM. I wake up in the morning and it's just me and the hair. On our own. Battling the war we have been fighting for years. And it gets ugly, let me assure you. With no stylist to tame it, my hair becomes a beast and refuses to do what I saw it do the day before. It is like the sad clown at the circus being left alone in the lion cage with only a squirty-flower on his lapel to assist him.

So here I am today, about 6 days into a new haircut. The first day, of course, I absolutely loved it. The shape was great, the layers made sense, I went with sweepy side bangs again (against my better judgement) and they actually looked damn cute! I was impressed. The stylist was my 4th or 5th since living in Chicago, and I was happy because she took notes and spent time listening to my hair woes. She even showed me some different ways to work with my hair and gently urge it to do what I wanted. I felt armed with new knowledge and a new sense of determination to make my hair my bitch (so to speak). And of course, the next morning, I practiced all her tricks and I took extra time to style it and I used the stupid product she convinced me to buy that was supposed to help me make this happen. But nothing changed. I am still a certifiable hair-idiot.

This makes me very sad. It does. Because I know hair is a very important part of the image you present to the world. It can make a pretty girl uglier or a plain girl stunning. It can compliment your outfit or confuse the hell out of people. It is sometimes all someone has to go on to recognize you in a crowd. So it better be an extension of you, if possible.

For me, this is just not possible...yet. I am still hoping that one day the right cut or the right length or the right products will come along and help me make up for my missing hair gene. I will figure out how to style my own hair in a way that is pleasing and looks like I meant to look good that day. People will comment on it and tell me I have never looked better. And it won't be because of the stylist's work. It will be because of me.