Bad Hair Years
I had a bad hair day yesterday.
I went to my nephew’s wedding. And no, I didn’t wear the fringed slip. But I did wear a low cut, tight black dress, and danced “Shout” with abandon.
But my hair — not so hot.
My bangs, which often torment me with a life of their own, surprisingly behaved themselves. But I had a rather flat spot in the back, and a sticking-out piece on the right side.
But bad hair in 2011 is so much better than it used to be.
I am grateful every day for the important scientific advances known as PRODUCT.
Yes, that’s what the hairdressers call it. Product. There’s so much variety, and you can get just about any result you want. Soft and shiny, no problem. Hard and spiky, you bet. High, slicked, curly, big, rasta, ethereal.
All this Product works. Just not every day; or all day. For me, anyway.
But I’m still grateful. Because of how bad it used to be.
I have thin, fine hair. But not smooth fine. No – it’s fine with cowlicks.
And in the face of yesterday’s minor hair ideosyncrasies, I am reminded of those nightmare hair years called High School.
In high school, I had only three products to choose from:
Hair Spray. And this wasn’t the natural, light mist of today. No; this was shellac. There was a TV commercial (I think for White Rain) with two ladies, one shellacked and one natural. And they drove these ladies in a convertible through some combination of wind tunnel and car wash. And the force-fielded lady still had her bouffant hairdo after the monsoon.
Dippity-Do. This was like today’s gel. Only it wasn’t really. It was really glue. And glue that turned into an inch of dandruff — sort of like a light November snow.
Beer. Yes, you could set your hair with a little beer. It stiffened your hair enough to make it take the form of your rollers. But oh my dear, how those rollers hurt. They were hard wire things with brushes sticking out to catch your hair. But those little bristles also stuck in your scalp. Try sleeping on those.
My father would obligingly agree to have a beer in the evening, so I could have a few tablespoons as my setting lotion. Then I would wind up my hair on those nasty rollers, usually with at least three bobby pins on each one. And I’d go to bed. I had a cat years ago who used to sleep on an old radiator, and I marveled at how he could sleep on those curvy, iron lumps. Because I couldn’t. By midnight, I’d have torn most of the rollers out.
And I’d have very weird hair by morning.
It didn’t matter though, because by the time the bus came, it had all fallen down anyway.
But I did get a break. Halfway through high school, Twiggy became the hot model. So I went short, and the hell with the rollers. Of course I looked like hell too. But I slept.
Come to think of it, my wedding hairdo yesterday was fabulous.