Curl, Interrupted
In the November issue of SKIRT!, there's an article title of Curl, Interrupted. I absolutely love a play on words, a title that references something else of current note really catches my attention. This title, as you may know, is similar to the book/film Girl, Interrupted.
Upon reading the title, I remembered my recent ride to Arkansas. I stayed in a cabin with a friend from the MTF and a couple of his friends, a married couple, Mark and Diane. For anyone who knows me, I'm typically a lower-maintenance kind-of-girl. I have my rare moments of fuss, but they are truly far and few between. So much of my travel is by motorbike so I figure, why bother? Helmet hair comes with the territory, ponytails are the quick-fix to any flat head of hair. That is how most people see me, hair pulled back.
On this particular weekend getaway, I happened to be sharing space with a hair stylist. She probably looked at me with sorrow in her heart as she saw my mane pulled back into a ponytail or perhaps a French braid buried beneath a baseball cap. I think the disdain finally got to be too much. As we lounged around late one evening, Diane started questioning my haircare habits. Now, if I was of the sensitive girly sort, I may have taken offense. She was not cruel in her questioning but it was something I wasn't used to, to say the least.
I'd just blown my hair dry, which for me is a great effort that doesn't take place all too often. I'm of the natural sort, you see. I dig letting my hair dry on its own, letting the mangled curly waves do what they want. I don't like to be controlled, why would I want to control my locks?
She was sitting in the living room using a flat iron on her very own curly curls. Unlike me, Diane was a girly girl of the utmost. A beautiful woman and kind. Her accent was a pure mix of her Appalachian upbringing and Alabama settling. We surely covered the spectrum as far as types of females goes.
She'd obviously taken notice of my wavy hair and asked if I'd ever had my hair straightened. "No, I'd not," I replied, trying not to sound ignorant of hair trends nor put off by what her comment could have eluded. So never to be one to turn down the chance of someone touching my hair, I agreed to have her use the flat iron on me. She guaranteed that I'd love it! That my hair would feel silky and appear shiny! I was waiting for the standard line of BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE to follow, but it didn't. Thank goodness, I was trying to relax after a day of riding. I didn't want to be subjected to stressful sales lines while chillin' out in my PJs.
Without fail, her promise proved positive. My hair DID feel silky and it did appear shiny! How magical! My hair is a favorite feature of mine but I do admit to neglect. I just don't care for the upkeep, the maintenance, the cost, the time. I suppose it showed since Diane politely offered to primp it for me. Without question, if my Gerber multi-tool had a sharp pair of scissors on it, I'd have gotten a haircut that evening. Wonder when they'll start producing tools for the girl on the go?
Upon reading the title, I remembered my recent ride to Arkansas. I stayed in a cabin with a friend from the MTF and a couple of his friends, a married couple, Mark and Diane. For anyone who knows me, I'm typically a lower-maintenance kind-of-girl. I have my rare moments of fuss, but they are truly far and few between. So much of my travel is by motorbike so I figure, why bother? Helmet hair comes with the territory, ponytails are the quick-fix to any flat head of hair. That is how most people see me, hair pulled back.
On this particular weekend getaway, I happened to be sharing space with a hair stylist. She probably looked at me with sorrow in her heart as she saw my mane pulled back into a ponytail or perhaps a French braid buried beneath a baseball cap. I think the disdain finally got to be too much. As we lounged around late one evening, Diane started questioning my haircare habits. Now, if I was of the sensitive girly sort, I may have taken offense. She was not cruel in her questioning but it was something I wasn't used to, to say the least.
I'd just blown my hair dry, which for me is a great effort that doesn't take place all too often. I'm of the natural sort, you see. I dig letting my hair dry on its own, letting the mangled curly waves do what they want. I don't like to be controlled, why would I want to control my locks?
She was sitting in the living room using a flat iron on her very own curly curls. Unlike me, Diane was a girly girl of the utmost. A beautiful woman and kind. Her accent was a pure mix of her Appalachian upbringing and Alabama settling. We surely covered the spectrum as far as types of females goes.
She'd obviously taken notice of my wavy hair and asked if I'd ever had my hair straightened. "No, I'd not," I replied, trying not to sound ignorant of hair trends nor put off by what her comment could have eluded. So never to be one to turn down the chance of someone touching my hair, I agreed to have her use the flat iron on me. She guaranteed that I'd love it! That my hair would feel silky and appear shiny! I was waiting for the standard line of BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE to follow, but it didn't. Thank goodness, I was trying to relax after a day of riding. I didn't want to be subjected to stressful sales lines while chillin' out in my PJs.
Without fail, her promise proved positive. My hair DID feel silky and it did appear shiny! How magical! My hair is a favorite feature of mine but I do admit to neglect. I just don't care for the upkeep, the maintenance, the cost, the time. I suppose it showed since Diane politely offered to primp it for me. Without question, if my Gerber multi-tool had a sharp pair of scissors on it, I'd have gotten a haircut that evening. Wonder when they'll start producing tools for the girl on the go?
posted by Juli at 11:53 AM
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