I’ve always been known as a bit kinky; at least since I was 16. That’s the first time I stopped wrestling against my natural instincts and discovered the truth: I was a curly girl.


Until then, I thought my hair was wavy, dry, and unruly. Although the last two are true, the former was merely a misconception I’d held about my hair for years. I’d always applied tons of hair goo, brushed it vigorously, blew it out, and beat it into as much submission as possible with a curling iron. Granted, I was a victim of the 1980s, mousse was new and exciting, and the bigger the hair, the closer to God.

It wasn’t until I let my hair dry naturally one day and, lo and behold, it was curly! Turns out my hair wasn’t trapped in that annoying it-isn’t-straight-it-isn’t-curly hair purgatory. Free from all that mousse and gel and torture with hair appliances, I had a head full of thick, bouncy, spiral curls. Of course, I wish my hair had taken the straight and narrow heavenly path, where we could live peacefully and frizz-free in a humid world; where I could brush fearlessly; where I could have at least one thing in common with all the pretty, popular girls who seemingly had such an easy go of it.

No, my tresses had chosen the dark and difficult winding path toward an abyss where the hair, not its owner, is in control. There has been much wailing and gnashing of teeth in the struggle to coexist with my crown of moody, unpredictable, and often uncooperative venomous snakes. 

I’ve had, essentially, the same hairstyle since high school. Once it finally grew out—and I do mean “out,” as it defied gravity and refused to grow down until it finally reached my shoulders—I couldn’t conceive of another appropriate style for my curls. Eventually my hair reached my butt, where it remained for a good decade or so. I cut it shorter a few times throughout the years, but it’s been long for a very long time…until three months ago.

I was bored with the same old same old and ready for a change. I’d always been intrigued by bangs, but assumed they’d look ridiculous on a curly girl. However, I’d seen two of my sisters successfully pull it off (including Kenz) so I thought what the heck! Let’s do this!

My awesome hairdresser (with whom I have the longest and most successful relationship in my life) chopped off a good eight inches and gave me bangs for the first time in my life. It took a little getting used to; I kind of felt like I was wearing a wig. But within a week, I called my hairdresser to thank her for the style and tell her how much I loved it.

I hate putting too much effort into my hair so I loved that all I had to do was let it air-dry (after applying the proper product, of course) and it took care of itself. After a while, however, I did wonder what it would look like if I straightened it and gave it a whirl.

It was exhausting.

I pulled out my hairdryer for the first time in years. The results were not pretty.

I put the straightening iron to work. After a hot and sweaty 45 minutes, it still looked icky.

Finally, I pulled out the jumbo curling iron. After another hot and sweaty 45 minutes, the job was finally complete. After all that effort, there was no way in hell I was going to let a drop of water touch my hair for at least a week.

It was kind of a relief to wake up every morning with effortlessly pretty hair for a full ten days. I’d give it a little touch up some mornings or after I worked out, but essentially, my hair was very well-behaved. 

Still, on the 11th day, I was happy to wash out days’ worth of product and see my old mane—big, wild, unruly, not unlike its owner—back where it belongs. 

The day following a haircut is like walking out of a strip club after sunrise, the weight of my seemingly good decision weighing heavily on my head - or in the case of a haircut, not so heavily. I wanted a trim before leaving for a trip and my regular girl wasn't available. I broke one of my major rules and went with a newbie. Don't get my wrong, she's got skills, but we just don't have the years of curly rapport necessary to tame my mane. No matter how excited I get about a haircut, the day after is worse than any hangover. 

Before the haircut: Gee, I can't wait for my haircut! La di da di da! It will feel so wonderful to get rid of these split ends!

During the haircut: Oh my gosh, this is heaven. It's a massage for my head. And everything smells so good. And this lady is so friendly! Oh look, my split ends are going away. Yay!

Immediately following the haircut: I'm so happy I got that haircut! And it was a great idea to ask her to blow it out. I look like a movie star. It's so amazing that I can run my fingers through my hair! Getting that haircut was the best idea ever!












The morning after the haircut: What the hell have I done? Where's my hair? I miss my long split ends! I'm so sad that my hair is gone. Why won't it fall the right way? Did she not hear me when I said layers on top and thin on the bottom? No amount of product will fix this shape. There's a reason I never strip my hair with shampoo. I look like a freakin' frizzy pyramid!

One shower after the haircut: I know my hair is curly, and it's usually very forgiving, but, c'mon, isn't this a little crooked? 













Two washes after the haircut: Ok, I'm starting to look like myself again. I have to tug on my hair all day long so that I don't look like a springy chia pet church lady, but I can handle this. Another pound of leave-in conditioner and it will feel weighed down enough for me to feel normal. I'll just wear my hair in a bun for the next three months. I'm never getting another haircut again. 

Two weeks after the haircut: Blech, look at all these split ends. Maybe I should get a haircut!

Author's note: As is typical of a curly girl, I fell back in love with my haircut about an hour after writing this blog post. Mind you, that took hours of tugging and flipping and bunning and loosening, and I will wake up looking like a scarecrow, but as of this moment, I'm happy.

My hair's been a freakin' disaster since I colored it an intense, vibrant (read: crazy) red about five months ago. I've been color-correcting ever since I got sick of it about a month later and even applied color remover at one point. THAT was scary. Add the dry winter air, subtract a much-needed trim, and I've been left with something akin to tumbleweed growing out of my head.

I decided to try a DIY deep-conditioning hair mask tonight. I did a few online searches and quilted a few recipes together into the following:

I mixed 1 egg, 2 tbsp. olive oil, and 2 tsp. honey in a bowl. I also added a few drops of orange essential oil to make it smell yummy!
I put on a grody old headband to keep the sticky mess from running down my face, and started applying it to chunks of my hair.

It was pretty sticky, but I'm hardcore so I went gloveless. I covered my eggy hair with a shower cap for 30 minutes, then rinsed with cool water so as not to make an omelet on my head. Some folks said to shampoo, others didn't. I kinda didn't want egg residue in my hair, but I also hardly ever use shampoo. I ended up conditioning with Kiehl's Olive Fruit Oil Nourishing conditioner. I LOVE Kiehl's, but I'm awfully frugal. I highly recommend finding one of their stores and getting as many samples as possible. If you sign up for their newsletters, you'll get sweet coupons that make it possible to splurge. I treat myself once a year by buying online...and get more samples! Also, their products last forever. So, yeah, it may be a bit of an investment initially, but I think it's worth it. And I'm REALLY frugal.

The first thing I noticed was how SOFT my hair was! It wasn't the usual struggle to get a brush through my wet hair. But the true test came a few hours later after letting it air dry, It remained soft and frizz-free. I swear, it looked as if the countless split ends actually repaired themselves, Terminator style! Tumbleweed, be gone...for now.