I’ve been obsessive about hair for pretty much as long as I can remember. I spent a lot of time at the salon with my mom growing up, so this is basically her fault. I would sit at the manicure station and paint my nails, then paint my sister’s too. Don’t get me wrong, my mom wasn’t one of those crazy ladies who let their 9-year-old daughter get acrylics and fake lashes, she let me start experimenting with hair and make-up on an age appropriate basis. But once I started, oh my…there has been no stopping me.
I’ve had a number of “hair crushes,” you know, when you see a girl that has absolutely amazing hair, and you just have to make it yours? The first time was the summer before 6th grade, at the salon with my mom. There was a high school girl there getting her thin, shiny, white-blonde hair cut into a bob. I suddenly loathed my dirty blonde, parted down the middle, half-way down the back hair. I spent the rest of the summer dreaming up my first day back to school look. White shorts, a light pink tee and a short, bouncy, blonde bob. Of course when I left the salon I had a less shiny, less bouncy, darker version of the cut, but I was still satisfied.
I loved going and getting curled and painted and make-uped before dancing at football and basketball games or dances. I hit the tanning bed like it was my job. I got my first fake nails during my sophomore year and I didn’t take them off until college. While I now recognize some of these behaviors as completely Midwestern (ok and tanning as SO DANGEROUS AND STUPID!) I realize those were my highs. Who doesn’t love looking good? No one!
In college my love for all things high-maintenance was only intensified after meeting my BFF. She taught me the wonders of OPI’s Kabuki Queen and I showed her the perfect technique for ringlet curls w/ a HotTools iron. Friday night protocol became nap, dinner, shower and 2+ hrs of drinking and getting ready. We spent hours choosing outfits, hairstyles, brightly colored eye shadow and shoes. Those are some of the times I miss most about college—pulling out the handles of pre-mixed margaritas, flavored vodka or w/e we had stashed away in the closet and spending the next few hours making predictions about the night, laughing, and *flamingoing to find the perfect shoe.
Since I’ve moved into my own apartment, it’s impossible to re-create this ritual. I still look to my hair to pick me up when I’m feeling down, or boring, or just in a slump though. After the stress of the last few weeks became too much to handle, I left work early and hit the salon yesterday.
Fresh hair, fresh start—here’s to hoping! Let’s get this weekend started. J
*Do you guys flamingo? You know, when you put on one of each from the potential pairs of shoes the lift one leg at a time to get the full effect? You know you do.
