I, like many people, have an ongoing battle with my hair. Since I just turned fifty, I’m not even sure what its true color is anymore. I dye it about three times a year with whichever medium-brown hair color happens to be on sale, when I notice in the mirror that dullness is upon me.
It’s slightly wavy, and it happens to turn under in a page boy style quite easily.
During my college years in the '80s, I tried getting up super-early every morning to do the hot-roller routine, but I decided quickly that extra sleep was much more desirable.
In my second year of college, I tried one of those home hair-painting kits, which was supposed to add wonderful highlights to blonde-to-light-brown hair. I ended up bleaching my darker-than-light brown hair into a bizarre series of stripes that required me to wear a headscarf for at least three months and cry a bit more than usual.
Today, that look might win rave reviews for a rocker on American Idol, but in the late '70s—it was just ugly and WRONG.
Up until this year, I have been in the habit of washing my hair on a daily basis. Now that I’m approaching menopausal years, it’ s not nearly as oily as it used to be, so I can skip a day or two between shampoos. I can get away with using very light conditioning products, due to my hair’s very fine texture.
I have grown to despise going to get haircuts at salons, because I always feel like the stylists look down on me for my hairdo-laziness and give me bad cuts on purpose. Maybe that’ s just a touch of paranoia ... or maybe not.
I envy the guy who does hairstyles on What Not to Wear because he ALWAYS gives the clients the most precise cut that’s perfect for their face shape/lifestyle/age. If we all had access to stylists like him, it would be an almost-perfect world ... or at least, a world with no bad hair days, ever again.
