Flashback Friday-My Hairy Life

Every Friday I’m going to try to reblog one of my older posts or share some ridiculously embarrassing memory or picture for your amusement. This week, I’m taking you back to when I thought one good perm was all I needed to be as cool as Cher Horowitz. As with all of my genius ideas, it didn’t exactly work out. Perms, “I’d Like to Speak to the Manager Hair”, and awkward eyebrows, oh my! 

A woman’s hair is very much a part of who she is, it’s practically a part of the soul. You identify with your hair, it identifies you. I’m confident that every single woman on this planet has had the obligatory “life altering bad haircut”. When you have always had thick-as-Redwood-tree hair, that’s also stick straight, traumatic haircuts are as much a part of life as doctor check ups and seeing the dentist.

Growing up, bath time was always a time of great strife. When time came to tackle my mess of damp tangles, all hell broke loose. When my hair wasn’t being snagged into a comb by a beyond-over-it-mother, it was long, shiny, and beautiful. My 3 year-old self knew I had to be descended from Snow White or Princess Jasmine. It was princess hair.

After one too many crying fits after bath time, my mom finally did what she promised she’d do. I never thought she was serious. Never in a million years did I think she was serious. 

 I’m so pissed, I won’t even look at the camera. I looked like Toad from Mario Bros. I looked like a fucking mushroom top. 

 What my dad and I thought of my new Dorothy Hamill hair.

 I have a lot of faith in my mom’s hairdressing skills. Can you tell?

After cutting my hair, my mom realized there was absolutely nothing she could do with thick, straight, fine, short hair. She got the wise idea to perm my hair. I don’t have an ‘after’ photo because I didn’t have a perm after enduring 3 hours of noxious perm fumes. Nope. Even nuclear waste perm chemicals wouldn’t touch my stubborn horse hair.

After the perm incident, we just gave up on trying. I pretty much looked like a boy with a bad haircut for most of my formative years.

 Helmet head doesn’t even do it justice. 

 Because it wasn’t already bad enough, my mom thought cutting off even more would do the trick. If the trick was to scar my self-image for life, well done, ma!

 My brother and I liked to play this game called, “Little Lady and Minature Man”, because I knew I already looked like a middle-aged mom with too many kids. I could totally have been Kate Gosselin’s, pre-cosmetic surgery twin! 

As I got older, I felt like I was never quite with the times. I’d show up with giant Aqua Net bangs, to find the look was to plaster your bangs to your head. I’d finally learn how to work my curling iron, and everyone started ironing their hair.

It was the summer before my eighth grade year. I was ready for a big change. My mom had just started letting me wear blue mascara, I got a second hole pierced in my ear, and I got to get my nails done at the beauty school (they looked like 4th street hooker nails. That was the first and last time I got to have tips. My mom was appalled).

But…nails and mascara were for 7th graders. I wanted a perm. I had salivated for months over the wavy, crunchy waves I was seeing everywhere. My best friend and I convinced our moms and before we knew it, we were on our way to Trendsetters.

One of the stipulations of our perms was that we had to get them done by my best friend’s mom’s hairdresser, because she “knew what she was doing”. She was also in her 60’s and had a preference for the Curly Sue look.

When she went for my bangs, I thought it was odd, but I was 12. I was basically clueless. As she freed my friend’s blond locks from the curlers, they were tight spirals. My heart stopped. I secretly prayed she had only messed up her hair, not mine too. As her hair air-dried while my hair was finishing, she looked more Pollyanna than Delia’s model.

After the 99th curler was finally removed and my hair had time to air dry a bit, I was turned around in the chair, to face the mirror. In that one second, I knew my life was over. Glancing at my poodle friend, I could see she had the same dreadful realization. Our genius idea to get a perm from a woman who specialized in blue hair and tight finger curls, sealed our middle school fate. I looked like a mix between Bob Ross and my cocker spaniel mutt, Buttons. It was not the look I was going for. It was terrible. 

 This was even after several months of solid taming. On a side note-I’m ashamed to see I was the kind of person who wore Looney Tunes attire. I must have repressed that memory. 

  I mean, my cousin, Colton’s face says it all, “Woof!” We were barkers. 

 It took an entire year for my hair to not look God-awful. Just as my hair started to tame itself, my eyebrows grew in. EYEBROWS NOT ON FLEEK. 

And because my life wasn’t embarrassing enough, it was, apparently, an entire family affair when I first shaved my legs. Why? Please tell me I wasn’t shaving with foaming bathroom cleaner.

Any woman can tell a story through the experiences they had/have with their hair. Most of those stories will be harrowing, terrifying, and life-altering. It’s not just hair, it’s who we are.

This is why I’m a perma-geek with every hair product known to man in my bathroom. The quest continues. FYI I’ve given up on the perm. I can confidently, assuredly say, I’ll never attempt to perm my hair again.

Author: fattymccupcakes

Just a thirty-something girl trying to love herself the way she is: fat, rolls, cellulite, and fabulousness.

48 thoughts on “Flashback Friday-My Hairy Life”

  1. I think that the bad perm was a rite of passage. Permed girls come out the other side with a much better sense of humor. I can laugh about the nickname poodle now, when I’m not crying myself to sleep over it. Great post!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You can tell the year by just looking at the haircut. What do they do now? I just tie it up, hardly look at it anymore? Me and hair only meet and greet at bathtimes. ☺

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh, the photos! I want to dig up mine so badly but most of them are in Texas (a ways away from NC). I had the perm, as well as the “Van Halen” cut. Any hair that could be “feathered” was feathered. I basically looked like an aging male rockstar…when I was a six year old girl.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I am loving reading through your older posts! (That’s not a creeper status, right? I mean you linked them in a post the other day). Oh lordy I think every woman on the planet can relate to this post in some way, even if it’s not from having the same traumatic hair cuts. I have thin, fine, wavy red hair, and I think one of my most traumatic haircuts was one I got for free. On a back porch out in the country. Without a mirror. (Don’t ask..) When I finally saw it, the guy (allegedly a professional) had made me look like the mom from The Brady Bunch, complete with the annoying layer of hair flipping out at the bottom.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. I generally justa void hairdressers as much as posisble. I had finally found one I liked in my hometown (and by ‘like’ I mean I went maybe once a year) but then I moved to England… The nightmare. I finally found someone, she was not bad but absolutely traumatised when I told her that Canadian speak English and French, not ‘Canadian’. So now I just have really, really long hair…

    You are an amazing storyteller! I need to remember not to read your blog at the office… That last photo got me laughing aloud in the middle of an open-space office. Oops!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. There have been many families going to the USA from QuΓ©bec and New Brunswick about 200 years, especially to the North and Middle East so it’s very possible! πŸ™‚

        Liked by 1 person

  6. Girl I just re-fell in love with this post all over again!!! Not that I would have expected any different. Your writing is timelessly funny! Also, you’re not alone – I definitely rocked some Looney Toons gear in my youth. Praise be I’ve yet to find photographic evidence of it, though.

    Liked by 1 person

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