I have a confession to make. I used to be a frizzy Lizzy. Born with a head of hair that would make a brillo pad blush, I spent most of my childhood searching for a style that didn't make my hair look like I just stepped out of a convertible. Or stuck my finger in a light socket. And being that the only way to straight iron your hair in those days was to actually iron it, I knew that long silky locks were just not meant to be.
I learned at a early age that my hair was never going to dry properly without chemical intervention-so I became a complete perm whore by fourth grade. That's right-every three months in the eighties(and few in the nineties-don't judge) you could find me at the hair salon getting that stinky ass solution poured into my scalp. Because if I couldn't have the smooth, straight hair I desired, ridiculously tight poodle curls came in a close second.
But here's the thing: I love straight hair. Love it. I love it more than that extra half-hour of sleep I don't get because I have to blow dry and burn my hair into submission each day. And I'd rather walk on hot coals than leave my straight iron at home when we travel.
Soon I realized that my love for straight hair was consuming me-I would plan each day around whether the hair needed to be blow dried and coiffed. How long did the hair need? Excuse me, I need to jump in the shower RIGHT NOW or the hair will never be ready in time!
Needless to say, I had become f*cking consumed with my do'.
So when I learned of the Brazilian Blowout, a new straightening treatment, it seemed too good to be true. Straight hair EVERY DAY? It actually DRIES STRAIGHT? It could turn even the most high maintenance bitch into a wash and go girl?
I had to have it.
And let me tell you-it love at first site. All of a sudden I went from a type A hair control freak to a carefree girl without a hair care in the world.
Thirty minutes to get ready? No problem, make it twenty!
Getting my hair wet at the the pool? Who's up for an underwater game of Marco Polo?
90% humidity? No problemo!
And the hubs couldn't believe the change in my hair attitude either. Instead of mapping out the hair's schedule, I'd sit on the couch and relax. My hair care became the easiest part of my day. I was a slave to the hair no more!
Um, until the hubs found out how much it cost.
That's right. I *may* have left out the $200-$300 dollars I had been dropping every twelve weeks to keep the hair under control. Which would probably not have been a big deal except for the fact that unless I wanted to go for silver foxette look, I also needed my color done every six weeks. So when he told me that I needed to relax(pun intended) on how often I was getting the Brazilian, like any addict, I was very unhappy. But because I had made a commitment to cut expenses and go cash only until the end of the year(a whole other blog in itself!), I knew I had to enter straight hair rehab ASAP.
So now I'm back to scheduling life around the hair again. And explaining to my mother-in-law over and over again why I don't care to dive in her pool head first. It's fine-but I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I miss my wash and go hair so much that it hurts sometimes. That I think about the Brazilian more than any one person probably should. And that the minute we lift this bullshit "cash only" experiment we have going on, I'll be the first in line at the salon. See you there!
How about you? Do you struggle with "the hair"? Leave a comment and you'll be entered to win one of THREE copies of Pat Benatar's Between a Heart and a Rock Place: A Memoir!
xo, Liz