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