So here’s the story. For months now I’ve been battling with my hair. Or to be more precise battling with myself, over my hair. Trying to back off, be a little less controlling, a little less of an annoyingly anal perfectionist. Trying to let my curl go its own way. At least some of the time. And it ain’t easy.
It ain’t easy when my cut and colour are fresh. Let alone when it’s been weeks and weeks since my last cut and still two more weeks to go. So that my hair is too long and heavy on top making it smush down no matter how much I fluff and scrunch. Not to mention the frizz enhancing humidity we’ve been experiencing. Humidity that kinks and fuzzes my bangs. And makes colossal whoop-de-dos exactly where I don’t want them.
So despite my best efforts to look like one of these ladies…
|I aspire to make my hair look like any one of these cuts from my Pinterest board.|
I end up looking a little like Schroeder, from the Peanuts comic strip…
You see, my hair is neither one thing nor the other. Not straight, that’s for sure. And not nicely curly either. Parts curl, parts don’t, and the rest frizzes. This was me last week trying to wield my tools to blow out the part in front that ends up looking like Tin Tin. And scrunching, scrunching, scrunching to encourage “nice” curls in the rest. Not to mention all the squinting, sighing and swearing.
|Blow drying, scrunching, squinting, and swearing|
Hubby was away on a canoe trip recently and I was home alone. Just me and (what seems like) fifty acres of vegetable garden which I had to water assiduously every evening. In the heat and humidity. And every night, when I came in from the garden to shower, my curly hair looked like an increasingly bizarre free-form sculpture. Free range hair. Wilder and weirder each night.
One evening I had “the girls” over for a barbeque. We sat on our deck for hours eating, drinking wine, chatting and laughing. And even though it was hot and humid, the breeze from the river kept us pretty cool. So now imagine, if you will, my already pretty wild hair, frizzing in the humidity, stirred by a breeze. So that when we were standing in the kitchen saying our good-byes, my friend Nancy who purports to never notice things like hair and clothes gazed at the top of my head and said,”You ARE letting your hair go curly aren’t you?!” I moaned about how it was such a mess and a challenge, and they all murmured not to worry, it “looked fine.” Ri-ight, I thought. And when they had driven off, and I went into the bathroom to take my make-up off, I couldn’t help but gasp audibly, and then guffaw, at the wild woman who looked back at me from the mirror! The next day I e-mailed them to say, “Thanks for coming. I had a great time.” And that I only noticed when they had gone my hilarious case of “humid hair.” And Nancy replied, “Humid hair is authentic hair, and who doesn’t want to be authentic with their friends?” Ha. Good one, Nancy. Authentic hair.
The next day, I was off to shop the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale. Authentic hair and all. And when I was sitting in her chair watching in the mirror as my buddy Katie, who manages the Laura Mercier cosmetic line, showed me how to apply a new product, I moaned some more about my hair. She stepped back, surveyed me, and said briskly. “You know, Sue. I swear, I think you have hair dysmorphia.” And we both laughed. Another good one. Hair dysmorphia.
And you know when I look at the shots below taken for the blog over the last few weeks… I like my authentic hair… when it’s short enough to control. And even the wild whoop-de-doos when it’s longer aren’t terrible. Exactly. I mean I’m no Audrey Tatou. But my hair ain’t that bad.
|Some of these looks I like. And the others aren’t terrible. Exactly.|
So maybe Katie has a point. Maybe I can’t control my negative thoughts about my hair. Maybe I don’t see my hair for what it really is. Maybe I do have hair dysmorphia.
But I must say these past few weeks, when humidity has been high. And I’m languishing in between hair appointments. Trying to last a couple of extra weeks until just before we head down east on our vacation. And my hair is too long on top. And too frizzy everywhere else. And I’ve got grey roots like there’s no tomorrow. Well… it’s enough to try the patience of even the most well adjusted person. Let alone a recovering perfectionist who suffers from hair dysmorphic disorder.
How about you folks? Are you able to just let your authentic hair be whatever it wants to be? Curly, straight, or in between?