I got my hair cut today and as I watched the stylist add a quart of hair product I did not want and had specifically declined, I thought about all the many things I have done to my hair over the years. This post is from May 2013. Enjoy!
My hair has been thru a lot. It's a wonder I have any left considering the things I used to do and have done to it. When I was little there were two choices for my hair. Pigtails or not. That is actually the way my mother asked the question...do you want pigtails or not? If I went with pigtails, I could add ribbons to the ends and barrettes at the sides. Sometimes the pigtails came with hair stretched so tightly away from my face I looked like a premature facelift casualty. If I chose no pigtails, I still got the barrettes or maybe a hard plastic headband that made tiny dents in my head with its vicious little teeth. Pigtails or not lasted until around 4th grade when it became ponytail or not. By then the plastic torture devices had been replaced with stretchy headbands. I had a black one with Susan written in gold cursive. I loved that headband. I wore it until the gold flaked off and it read S_sa_. By the time I got to high school, hair exploded. I teased my hair to within an inch of its life, sprayed it, then teased it again. Bangs below my eyebrows, crown of hair reaching toward the sky, with a cute little clip-on bow delineating the separation. Unlike some of my friends, I always checked the back to make sure everything was smoothed down, right before I AquaNetted the heck out of it. My best friend Barb never bothered combing the back since she claimed she never saw it, so what was the point. As I was at least 3 inches taller than her, I could have told her what the point was, but I was nothing if not a good friend. Huge hair was so out of control, articles were written in the LA Times claiming tough girls hid razor blades in their do's and, since you didn't comb out a good tease for maybe a week, sometimes black widow spiders made nests in them. At my high school, all the cool girls had wiglets. Constructed on a stiff net, a wiglet was 3-5 inches of hair that could be washed, set and styled into a froth of hair sprayed curls and attached to your real hair with built in combs. Girls would bring them to school before a dance, pinned on Styrofoam heads so that we could ooh and aah over them. I didn't have one. My hair is red and there were no wiglets for redheads. What I did have was a custom blended 2 ft length of hair from a high end department store, fastened in a huge knot at one end. It could be left loose in a free flowing pony tail or braided and coiled into a sort of hair crown attached with dozens of hairpins. My freshman photo shows me wearing it plopped on the top of my head like a Davy Crockett coonskin hat, my own shoulder length hair in a cute little flip below. Around my senior year, we all got over the need to lacquer our hair, yes they really called the product lacquer, and things got a whole lot simpler. We wore it long and straight or long and curly. If you were a straight fan and your hair wasn't, you either ironed it or set it on empty soup cans...yes, that is right, soup cans. If you wanted curls but weren't born with them, you got a perm. Eventually even guys got perms. I had a friend in college whose perm went horribly wrong, causing him to shave his head. He got a nice settlement in exchange for the promise to take the salon's name to the grave. Today the thought of teasing, or as we called it, ratting, my hair makes me laugh. So does the idea of sitting for an hour under a plastic hood, hot air burning my ears while baking my hair onto rollers. Those days of bobby pins, clippies and Dippity Do are long gone and not missed at all. I still have that long braid somewhere. And I still wish it was a wiglet.