Speaking of Hair
by Sariah S. Wilson
I have ideas on things I want to blog about, but right now, they'd all take way too much time to sit down and produce. I have VERY limited time at the computer because I have a little one who likes to be held. All the time. It makes me worried for the next book, and I'm considering writing it by hand (since I only need one hand for that) or dictating it orally. I think dictating it would feel very strange.
But before I had to look too far for a topic, I noticed Julie's post about getting her hair cut, and it led me to a mind tangent on when I destroyed my hair.
First thing you need to know - my hair grows in silver gray. It's actually a very pretty color, but I don't feel the need at 32 to be all gray yet. I have my father to thank for this - he was all gray by his early 20s. It started out with me having silver strands in my hair - which actually looked pretty because in contrast my hair is a very dark brown/almost black. My friends in high school thought it was so neat and everyone liked to look through my hair to find strands (since back then I had so few of them). I'm sure we resembled primates looking for bugs.
But in college, it started to grow in gray, which was most distressing. It didn't come in gray in the front, which meant that I could pull my hair back and no one could tell.
In the last few years it now comes in silver at all the roots. And since I have hair that grows so quickly, I'm semi-gray a lot of the time.
This has necessitated me coloring my hair since I was 14. I refused to go silently in the night and raged against the light, as it were. Since we were not well off, this consisted of me doing home coloring with Clairol. The first time I did it, I didn't put on the conditioner that you're supposed to put on afterwards. This made it smell awful for days. I usually made a massive mess as well, and the color always looked slightly fake.
Then I discovered the joys of a salon. I could pay someone else to do it and it would look nice and I wouldn't get dye all over my T-shirt or the bathroom wall. I experimented with some different shades, but eventually decided I liked my natural color best.
I got addicted to salons, and started going regularly in college. My hairstylist became such a close friend that she came to my house to do my hair for my wedding invitation pictures.
And as is so often the case with women, since my hair is stick straight and heavy, of course I wanted to wear it curly (while women with curly hair buy hair straighteners to get my look). My hair was so straight, as a child my mom would put me in those pink sponge curlers which I would sleep in all night and a half hour after she took them out in the morning the back of my hair would be completely straight. It didn't help that I always kept my hair long, which only made it heavier.
In the summer before my sophomore year, I decided to get a perm. I was working two jobs at the time and felt justified in spending the money to do it. Now apparently they have nice perms, but back in the day they were still a little poodle like. I figured with my heavy hair, that it would balance the tight curls out and I'd get a nice soft look.
By the time I got home from the salon, my hair was straight. No lie. You couldn't tell that I had gotten a perm at all.
So I called the salon and told them what had happened. They said I should come back the next night and they would fix it.
They gave me another perm. The only problem? They didn't wash out the chemicals in my hair from my first perm.
My hair was totally fried. It looked like I had stuck my finger in a socket - it stood up in all directions. I can't even tell you how bad it looked. But on the plus side, I could easily curl it because the crappy fried hair held a curl really well. It was the only way I could disguise how horrible it looked.
The next summer I had had enough of the deadness on my scalp. I went to get my hair cut and colored (at a salon in a different state since my family had moved) and I had them cut all of the gross hair off. My hair was so short - it was such a shock to me because all my life I had worn my hair long.
But then I realized that I liked it. I liked it a lot. It was so much easier to manage and style. I've worn it shoulder length or less ever since.
And thankfully I learned my lesson - I will never, ever get my hair permed again.
Anyone else have a hair horror story?
I have ideas on things I want to blog about, but right now, they'd all take way too much time to sit down and produce. I have VERY limited time at the computer because I have a little one who likes to be held. All the time. It makes me worried for the next book, and I'm considering writing it by hand (since I only need one hand for that) or dictating it orally. I think dictating it would feel very strange.
But before I had to look too far for a topic, I noticed Julie's post about getting her hair cut, and it led me to a mind tangent on when I destroyed my hair.
First thing you need to know - my hair grows in silver gray. It's actually a very pretty color, but I don't feel the need at 32 to be all gray yet. I have my father to thank for this - he was all gray by his early 20s. It started out with me having silver strands in my hair - which actually looked pretty because in contrast my hair is a very dark brown/almost black. My friends in high school thought it was so neat and everyone liked to look through my hair to find strands (since back then I had so few of them). I'm sure we resembled primates looking for bugs.
But in college, it started to grow in gray, which was most distressing. It didn't come in gray in the front, which meant that I could pull my hair back and no one could tell.
In the last few years it now comes in silver at all the roots. And since I have hair that grows so quickly, I'm semi-gray a lot of the time.
This has necessitated me coloring my hair since I was 14. I refused to go silently in the night and raged against the light, as it were. Since we were not well off, this consisted of me doing home coloring with Clairol. The first time I did it, I didn't put on the conditioner that you're supposed to put on afterwards. This made it smell awful for days. I usually made a massive mess as well, and the color always looked slightly fake.
Then I discovered the joys of a salon. I could pay someone else to do it and it would look nice and I wouldn't get dye all over my T-shirt or the bathroom wall. I experimented with some different shades, but eventually decided I liked my natural color best.
I got addicted to salons, and started going regularly in college. My hairstylist became such a close friend that she came to my house to do my hair for my wedding invitation pictures.
And as is so often the case with women, since my hair is stick straight and heavy, of course I wanted to wear it curly (while women with curly hair buy hair straighteners to get my look). My hair was so straight, as a child my mom would put me in those pink sponge curlers which I would sleep in all night and a half hour after she took them out in the morning the back of my hair would be completely straight. It didn't help that I always kept my hair long, which only made it heavier.
In the summer before my sophomore year, I decided to get a perm. I was working two jobs at the time and felt justified in spending the money to do it. Now apparently they have nice perms, but back in the day they were still a little poodle like. I figured with my heavy hair, that it would balance the tight curls out and I'd get a nice soft look.
By the time I got home from the salon, my hair was straight. No lie. You couldn't tell that I had gotten a perm at all.
So I called the salon and told them what had happened. They said I should come back the next night and they would fix it.
They gave me another perm. The only problem? They didn't wash out the chemicals in my hair from my first perm.
My hair was totally fried. It looked like I had stuck my finger in a socket - it stood up in all directions. I can't even tell you how bad it looked. But on the plus side, I could easily curl it because the crappy fried hair held a curl really well. It was the only way I could disguise how horrible it looked.
The next summer I had had enough of the deadness on my scalp. I went to get my hair cut and colored (at a salon in a different state since my family had moved) and I had them cut all of the gross hair off. My hair was so short - it was such a shock to me because all my life I had worn my hair long.
But then I realized that I liked it. I liked it a lot. It was so much easier to manage and style. I've worn it shoulder length or less ever since.
And thankfully I learned my lesson - I will never, ever get my hair permed again.
Anyone else have a hair horror story?
Sariah Wilson — 7/28/2007 10:07:00 PM
5 comments
5 Comments:
Oh, yes, I do.
I looked through some hair style magazines and found a cut I really liked. What I didn't ask was, does this stylist know how to do this cut? She cut right to work, and -- no lie -- for about four months, my husband's hair was longer than mine, and he's always had a missionary haircut.
I have a hair horror story just about every morning when I look in the mirror! I also have MS which keeps frustration with my hair it a little bit in perspective. Sariah, this may not help but during one of my bouts when I couldn't move my right arm, I learned to skim the keyboard with my left hand. It is much slower but at least I could write--my way of dealing with things. They used to have baby slings, if that was their names, but, hey, there is nothing quite like holding a little one.
Don't you mean a harrier story?
This probably isn't AS horrific, but I let a companion dye my hair (she really really wanted to) and it came out, I kid you not, neon orange. I went in to meet with the mission president the next day and, good man that he is, he just laughed and asked if I learned anything (o:
Then I cut another companion's hair. Problem was, another sister in the flat wanted to help. I did one half (with about two inches off) and she did the other (with about 12 inches off) and...well...it didn't look very good. Luckily we had a teaching appointment with a lady who revealed she'd cut hair for years and she fixed that one.
I had a friend in high school that wanted to dye her very pretty, very blond hair. So she did. Black. Well, she tried to dye it black. It came out with black, blond, green, and even a little purple thrown in. Unfortunately for her, we had a major band competition the next day and she happened to be the one person who stood out in front the entire show (playing an instrument far too heavy to lug around like the rest of us had to!). She didn't normally have to wear the helmets the rest of us did, but she wasn't allowed to even consider taking it off that day!
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