Fashion plates / [something something something] / fashion plates
Y’all, my hair, at the advanced age of 34 and ¾, is finally pretty much exactly like I want it: straight, reasonably full, smooth, longish and a nice color (thanks to a bit of warming up at the salon … the greys began advancing somewhere around age 28, and until I have a nice snowy overall thing going on, or else a kickass robust Bonnie Raitt streak, I’m going to keep on with the rinse).
But so it took a long time to get here, and during the teen years, there were some … well, I was going to say “missteps,” but these were tragedies. Behold my shame:
Hair Tragedies of My Past
1) The spiral perm. This I convinced myself I needed, during my obsession-with-Major-League-and-consequently-with-Rene-Russo phase. It was the New Thing in perms – there’s always a New Thing in perms, with much weeping and angst following – and I wanted those awesome low-key ringlets of hers. Well. Yeah. So, no. Plus also it lasted about a week. My hair wants what it wants, and it wants to be UNCURLY goddammit.
2) The Sun-In episode. My hair is a sort of brown, which can lighten considerably when exposed to long summers of actual sun and chlorine and whatnot. But I am an impatient girl at times, and round about 7th grade, me and my friend Julie W. got heavy into the Sun-In. Her hair ended up a passable blond; mine, a strange orangey … something or other. There are some odd xmas photos of me with this hair and some green eyeshadow, about which the less said the better.
3) The perm that only took on one side. Lotta hair, only one home perm kit. Ma Gleemonex tried, Shatner bless ‘er, but it was not to be. Too bad that was the year I was in the newspaper and on TV a lot.
4) The Regis Hairstylists debacle at the Golden Triangle Mall. What can I say – I was twelve and hadn’t been to a salon since my great-grandmother quit the biz, and their ads made them seem really cool and hip. There were bangs involved, and layers. Also mousse. I can barely think of it without physically cringing, over 22 years later.
5) The year of the crimping iron. Sixth grade, I think, and I was hardly alone in my maniacal pursuit of MAXIMUM CRIMPAGE. Particularly in AWESOME PATTERNS. This may or may not have coincided with the summer of those weird little hair-paint mascara wands (I had a three pack of hot pink, screaming yellow and electric blue). We all looked like tiny little whorey music-video escapees with a thing for Grace Jones.
Good times. Good times.
But so it took a long time to get here, and during the teen years, there were some … well, I was going to say “missteps,” but these were tragedies. Behold my shame:
Hair Tragedies of My Past
1) The spiral perm. This I convinced myself I needed, during my obsession-with-Major-League-and-consequently-with-Rene-Russo phase. It was the New Thing in perms – there’s always a New Thing in perms, with much weeping and angst following – and I wanted those awesome low-key ringlets of hers. Well. Yeah. So, no. Plus also it lasted about a week. My hair wants what it wants, and it wants to be UNCURLY goddammit.
2) The Sun-In episode. My hair is a sort of brown, which can lighten considerably when exposed to long summers of actual sun and chlorine and whatnot. But I am an impatient girl at times, and round about 7th grade, me and my friend Julie W. got heavy into the Sun-In. Her hair ended up a passable blond; mine, a strange orangey … something or other. There are some odd xmas photos of me with this hair and some green eyeshadow, about which the less said the better.
3) The perm that only took on one side. Lotta hair, only one home perm kit. Ma Gleemonex tried, Shatner bless ‘er, but it was not to be. Too bad that was the year I was in the newspaper and on TV a lot.
4) The Regis Hairstylists debacle at the Golden Triangle Mall. What can I say – I was twelve and hadn’t been to a salon since my great-grandmother quit the biz, and their ads made them seem really cool and hip. There were bangs involved, and layers. Also mousse. I can barely think of it without physically cringing, over 22 years later.
5) The year of the crimping iron. Sixth grade, I think, and I was hardly alone in my maniacal pursuit of MAXIMUM CRIMPAGE. Particularly in AWESOME PATTERNS. This may or may not have coincided with the summer of those weird little hair-paint mascara wands (I had a three pack of hot pink, screaming yellow and electric blue). We all looked like tiny little whorey music-video escapees with a thing for Grace Jones.
Good times. Good times.
Labels: cryin' amazacrazy, demoralizing confessions, first-world problems, life 101, way too old for this kind of shit anymore
posted by Gleemonex at 3:24 PM
5 Comments:
Ha ha ha ha ha! Did you rock the "flower bang" with that spiral perm? Because you were in TexASS, right? And Texass is known for big hair and multi-color mascara! My gawd, woman, thank you very much for this walk down memory lane. Now go get you some Aquanet and call it done.
I was a big fan of the Rave- purple top and I would spray at the same time as I curled = steam! I too hit up the sun in and did perm it up. Only I looked more like little orphan annie than any rene russo type! also gotta give mention to the mullet- yeah I rocked it, but at the time who didn't and don't you go and judge me. It started off as a simple feather of my bang outgrowth and it just took on a life of its own,good times.
I tried like hell to get the exploding cabbage bangs, after the Regis incident, but sadly, no. Although in hindsight, thank the LIVING SHATNER I failed at that maneuver.
It is posts like these that leave me thanking Shatner that I am 1) not a woman and 2) do not have a woman's hair. My hair has always been within 1/2 to 4" in length from my head and up until I got married the only thing I put in it was shampoo.
Now, I have "product" which is just weird.
this post would be complete with photo evidence....
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