Thursday, January 20, 2011

The Fine-Hair Things of Life.

I was blessed in many ways when I came into the world. I had one of everything down the side and one of everything up the middle as my mom used to say when she expressed her relief of us being born healthy. I was born into a pretty normal family with sound values and good sense and British passports – what more could a girl want? However much I was blessed with the finer things in life - I was not bestowed with a glorious crown in fact my crowning glory is the curse of my life - for all my other blessing I was made to pay..... by being born with fine hair!

This was all very well when I was gurgling in my pram – those cute golden curly wisps were much cooed over and admired. My mother, a staunch believer in Amami setting lotion and a style icon of note - fashioned them into rigid perfection with a single kiss curl that stood erect until warm water washed it away. The only problem was that as I grew older they were no longer cute or stylish and my wispy baby locks never changed – I still have a head full of baby fine hair.
I attended school with the hairstyle of the day – side parting with the fringe clipped to one side and a bow attached to a hairclip. This was pretty Ok when I was 4 or 5 but when my age went into double figures and all my peers had shoulder length tresses or high ponies – my hair grip lost its  er...grip!
My teen years were spent trying out products that promised to add volume but which only deminished it  and in an attempt to tame the now permanent wave cause by amami, my fringe was selotaped and the curls were put under the iron - all this produced was a sticky forehead and a cheeky scar from the iron!

Once I started work I saved up to consult a reputable hairdresser, Bernhard newly arrived from the continent to our little town – his salon boasted a huge plate glass window – I prayed for a seat at the back. He studied my problematic down and gushed, “I veel make you beautiful Susannne’. “We don’t have that long – I am in my lunch hour” I replied. “My darling - you musta go with what nature gaven to you and become ‘elfin’ lika your hair.” “I am five foot eight and have size seven feet – I don’t think I can do elfin.” I pleaded. Too late the scissors had snipped and Monsieur Bernhard had started to crop my mop. A crowd gathered outside the plate glass window – too scared to look in the mirror I watched their expression of horror as my prominent ears were revealed – they blushed at their debut and stayed crimson. As did my face as I emerged from the shop – the first elfin giant in my home town – a freak!
Africa called and I found myself in the windy city - a great excuse to have terrible hair but no – everyone here seemed to have a sleek, straight bob. When summer arrived I had humidity and wind to contend with and resigned myself to living in velcro rollers and a headscarf! The struggle continued and straighteners, body building mousse and directional gel became my daily fix!

A few years ago, the first grey hairs arrived – not grey – WHITE! A flashback to my childhood and the memory of a chance encounter with my father as he emerged from the bathroom – his wispy white locks shining like the coat of a Maltese poodle. I had only ever seen him sleek and brillecremed and I stared in awe at the shimmering white fluff. The penny dropped and I saw my future .... I am resigned to my dotage sporting a ‘short back and sides’ – does anyone know where I can buy Brillcreme these days??

1 comment:

  1. It's a fact of life that we want the hair we haven't got. I've longed for poker straight hair for more years than I can remember and still gaze enviously at sleek bobs and fringes.