One never seem to be happy about one’s hair. Let’s take it from a female perspective. Whenever our conversation turns to ‘hair’, we begin to show our animated dissatisfaction about the type of ‘crowning glory’ we have inherited. Those with curls prefer straight and vice versa. I have never heard men discussing hair to such great extent except the fear of going bald.
I have absolutely straight, black, thick and shiny hair. It is of the straightest Asian variety – it is so straight that even when the wind blows my hair, it drops down in the same position. I never really had the need to carry around a hairbrush. When I was young, my mother would comb and oil it with my father’s ‘Brylcream’ and this would make it even more slippery that it already was. Then she would tie it up into the highest possible ponytail securing it with a rubber band so tight it would pull at its very roots. I hated this ‘hair-do’ session with mom each morning before going to school until one day when she decided to chop it off into a page boy cut or a ‘Thai’ cut. I don’t know if she ever had a hair dresser training at all but she was quite apt at it. I stuck around with this style for a greater part of my life because it was the best style suited to my kind of hair – I was told.
Then when I matured into a married woman, I had my hair permed for many years until the time when my daughter said, ‘Mom, straight is in and curls are definitely out’. From then on I stopped putting chemicals on my mane.
I went to the stylist and poured my grievances. I needed some ‘body’ on my crown instead of the hair falling limp on it. He examined the hair, took out his scissors with zig zag edges on it and began whizzing the portion of my hair underneath the upper part. Soon I saw a huge ball of hair on the floor and looked at the mirror to find my hair actually stand up. It was lighter and fluffier and thinner.
Though I have learnt to live through straight hair, I never cease to admire those lovely curls that pass me by.
How I wish…