I grew up in the Marcia Brady era; long, straight blonde hair was the ideal and I certainly didn’t qualify. With coarse, curly hair and hot, humid New York weather, I was prone to a mass of unruly hair that was, as a teenager, the bane of my existence. Curling irons and hot rollers were not part of my beauty arsenal so I used orange juice cans. With a rubber band I secured my hair atop my head, then rolled chunks of it around the can securing it with bobby pins. Sleeping was a challenge. In the morning after releasing my hair I winced in pain as my roots once again returned to their natural position. For a short time I enjoyed straight hair but as the day wore on the inevitable frizziness won out and I once again contended with hair that had a mind of its own.
High school graduation picture. See how well the cans work?
In my twenties I discovered that permanent waves worked. You would think the perm would only make matters worse, but it actually tamed my hair.
I thought the perm was a good idea!
My hair may drive me crazy but the truth is, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. The best thing I am finding about getting older is in learning to embrace the “real” me.
So today is a let-my-hair-be day. I just got back from Los Angeles. In the airport and on the plane I was getting all sorts of looks, all of which I interpreted as appreciative. Then I got home and checked myself in the mirror. Sure enough I looked like Cameron Diaz’s character in the film, What About Mary?”