As of today, I have new hair. Well, not new hair. It’s highlighted. And now, I can conquer the world. Or dinner. Either-or.
Men don’t understand this phenomenon. My husband, God love him, cuts his own hair with an electric razor. He has very curly black hair that turns into a fro if left to grow past a couple of inches. Don’t worry! He uses a mirror to get the back. I sometimes cut the back, too, though I have been known to sometimes make…divots. Don’t judge!
There’s a reason, however, that there’s a whole musical about hair. It’s a statement. The Apostle Paul talks about hair and head coverings in his infamous passage in 1 Corinthians. He says women’s hair is “their glory”. And advertisers know this. How many shampoos/cremes/gels, etc. are there out there?!
My mom used to brush my hair and put it into either ponytails or braids for school. I remember crying and hating it. The finished product was okay, but I always had “rats” in my hair, on the ends. Brushing was torture. But it was the 70s. Long hair ruled.
My hair was long and tangly until I was 9. It was almost 1980, when short hair for women seemed to be making a comeback. My then-stepmother thought it would be great if I got it cut. I did. Then, it got a bit wavy. Then she got me a perm. I looked like a chubby, brunette bespectacled Orphan Annie. Not a good look for me or anyone else. My hair holds curl really well.
Once I hit puberty, it was definitely curly. I do remember curling my bangs in junior high and trying to make my hair feather. It looked great on the right and the left was a lost cause. I never had a problem with volume. Nope. Aqua Net hairspray? Oh, yeah!
My junior year of high school, I got tired of my hair. I cut it off – mostly. My class pictures show me with basically just Ken-like hair, waves undulating straight on my head. What possessed me?! Why did I do that? My classmates made fun of me to my face. I didn’t get it. I thought they were actually complimenting me on my haircut. Not!
My senior year, I let it grow out into something like a bubble-cut. It looked okay. Looking at my senior pictures now, since my parents have them on display at their house (eek!), the cut looks matronly.
I grew my hair out when I got engaged. It reached the middle of my back. I looked like something out of a bad rock video. My hair stylist for the wedding put my hair up in a bun. A bun! I grew it out for 14 months! After the wedding, an asphalt-covered rock got stuck in it while I was driving in the car. It got kicked up from the road. Then, a bee got caught in it and stung me. And then, to add insult to injury, somebody asked me when I was starting 8th grade. Time for a haircut!
The 90s were a bad hair decade for me. Straight hair ruled. I didn’t even try to straighten mine. A couple of times I blew it dry and did the roundbrush thingy, but it still looked weird. Not me, sorta halfway me.
Obviously, I didn’t know what looked good or how to get the most out of my hair. I am not a hair person. I had roommates who had that gene. They’d go into the bathroom, hair sopping wet and looking like a bedraggled dog. They’d emerge, hair like a golden crown, glorious and wonderful atop their head.
And yet – I don’t want to spend 30 minutes or 2 hours tweaking, brushing, curling, straightening or anything. I am finally at a point where I realize 1) It’s curly! 2) I can straighten it, utilizing both heat and chemicals and 3) I like it but know it’s temperamental and has “seasons”. It doesn’t like shampoo. It doesn’t like most styling products. It is a barometer. I need to respect it and work with its limits.
Today, I really like the highlights. I’m older now, and I think of gray as a “highlight” also. Proverbs calls gray hair “the crown of the aged”. It’s actually kind of a pretty silver, and it’s coming in in streaks. I’m not ready to be totally silver/gray. Someday, maybe. I figure I earned all those hairs. Hopefully, I’ve gained some wisdom along the way, too.
But not today. Today, I am a goddess.