I’ve never much liked my hair and I blame it on my mother and father. Both had fine, thin hair with no personality. It was just hair. My mother was too busy to do anything interesting with her hair, so it just sat there, and she didn’t care, and she kindly instilled those ideas on me. My father kept his clipped short, but his too had no personality, a haircut from Charlie, the local barber, and he was good to go for another week or two or even three. With my mother, it was just an inconvenience.
In high school, my mousy brown hair had no character. It had a mind of its own, at a time when the bouffant was the hair of the day. Bouffant hair had to be perfect, not a hair out of place, and good grief, everybody had so much hair. Bouffant hair had personality and everybody, except me, bought mousse, hairspray, and those cute little bow hairclips by the gallon. And don’t even get me started about Aqua-Net! It was during the first few years of curling irons, but the field marshal thought they were a costly extravagance, so I never learned to use one. Wash and rub dry my hair with a towel, and I would be good to go. Maybe some Wave Set, so it wouldn’t stick out. I finagled a hair dryer on some birthday, and boy, was I happy. I recall those pink plastic curlers that fit under the pink and blue flowered, plastic hair dryer and tried my best, but it never worked. My friends, said, “Piece of cake,” but they didn’t have my hair.
Along came college and I had roommates. They had successful bouffants, and I was happy. Now, they knew hair, and I thought, Oh, boy, I’ll take notes and figure it out. I found this new product called “Summer Blond,” and suddenly I was a blondie, just like the picture on the box. My roommate said, “Why don’t you cut it short? Blonde pixie-cuts are all the rage.” So, I asked her to cut it. Big mistake, I looked like a grapefruit with spikes. I was on a strict budget during college, and I tried my hand at cutting it myself. Don’t ask. The pink curlers wouldn’t work, my hair looked like it had been cut by a lawn mower, and my parents were furious! (“What kinds of things do they teach you in that college?”)
After college, I joined the Marine Corps, and of course, Marines have rules about hair. It could “touch, but not cover the collar,” which meant that I needed to go to hairdresser. Egad. I had avoided a hairdresser all my life, never seen one. (Waste of money, I was told.) The hairdresser said, “You have lovely hair,” which I knew was a lie, “so how can we make it even lovelier?” This was the era of hippies and ponytails and flower children and when I said the words, “Marine Corps,” my mistake, she got out her razor and began to butcher. She was a hippie and had no use for Marines. Oh, happy day.
So now, I’m 77 years old, still fighting my personality-less and very white hair. But we now have Google! Dr. Google should be able to help me, and I started searching the web and found a bunch of websites labeled, “Hairstyles for women over 70.” This would be the answer to my prayers, finding a hair style that was easy, attractive, and right for hair that had no personality. I can’t be the only one, I thought.
Sure enough, Dr. Google began spinning and flashing messages, “Your hair, your way.” The pages flipped and flopped, and I waited. Finally, a headline “HAIRSTYLES FOR YOU, OVER 70.” Sure enough, there were pages and pages of them, hundreds of styles. The only trouble was: it was a wig site. Could this have been my answer all along?
The Cowboy just smiles, his hair left home base over 30 years ago, and he still demands reduced (cut rate—ooh!) haircuts. He claims I am a silver-haired vixen and right up there with Lauren Becall. He also claims that God only made a few perfect heads and his is one of them.
Well, I gotta go find my tortoiseshell combs for my long, lovely locks. Or hit the chopping block. Which shall I do?
If you enjoy Gail’s blogs, her books and blogs are available on her web site. Gailcushman.com Electronic books are available on Amazon.com
