Dear Frizzy, Unmanageable Hair,
I understand your struggle of being trapped between straight and curly. It’s a perplexing existence, but I’ve treated you with kindness over the years! I think it’s high time you show me a little cooperation. Seriously, can you just choose a side? Straight or curly would be preferable, but I could even settle for those loose, beachy waves that look effortless but are anything but.
I appreciate a bit of kink in my life, but not when it comes to my hair. I regret my past missteps—dyeing, teasing, and being overly harsh with you. Can we put that behind us? I have been treating you much more gently lately.
I’ve tried every organic oil imaginable: coconut, Moroccan, avocado. Yet, your fly-aways laugh in the face of these treatments. I’ve tested all the straighteners, curling irons, and defrizzers out there. I’ve even dabbled with various miracle lotions and potions. The only miracle I’ve seen is the extra three minutes I get to enjoy in a hot shower, dreaming of the day I can stroll into Target with you cascading perfectly over my shoulders.
But alas, that vision remains elusive. You seem determined to resist all my efforts, clearly uninterested in expensive solutions. I know you have the potential to be silky and smooth; I’ve seen it after a salon blowout, when my arms feel like jelly. However, that glorious look lasts only a few minutes before you revert to your usual traffic cone-shaped chaos the moment I step outside.
I realize I shouldn’t even bother with you in humid or rainy conditions, yet I persist. It’s infuriating when I try to finger-comb you, and instead end up looking like I’ve rolled out of a wild party. And for heaven’s sake, it would be marvelous to swim without emerging looking like a Muppet. No hat can conceal this mess.
I go into panic mode if I forget to wear a hair tie on my wrist because without it, we might as well head home. I’ve endured nights with rollers the size of soda cans, experimented with dry shampoo, and even tried pomade. Yet, when you do decide to cooperate, it’s when no one’s around to appreciate it. Just last week, while I was sick at home, you looked fabulous! Just imagine if you could maintain that look for a fun night out or even a quick grocery run.
Those burns on my neck are a testament to my attempts to tame you with a salon-grade curling wand. The saying “beauty is pain” is no joke. My overpriced hair dryer, set to cool, has a diffuser as large as my backside, and you act as though it doesn’t even exist. I seem to get no rewards for my gentleness.
I’d love to say I’m done caring about you, but the truth is, you’re exhausting yet oddly compelling. Please, I implore you, calm down. You do not have to look wild and untamed all the time—you’re not pubic hair!
Are you trying to remind me just how chaotic my life is? Because you’re succeeding. Every time I catch a glimpse of myself, I’m reminded of the disorder surrounding me. A little less craziness from you might help others think I have my act together.
Until then, I’ll be waiting for the “I just touched a live wire” look to become fashionable. But honestly, after over forty years of this, I’m starting to think it’s a lost cause. So, please, work with me here.
Sincerely,
Megan with the Unruly Locks