Why is this still happening to me? Lord knows I know it’s not cool. It’s not remotely in fashion. It probably won’t even be flattering.
But HELP – I want a perm!
I blame the post-birth hormones for making me want to turn back time and turn my locks into artificial corkscrew curls. And by ‘turn back time’, I mean 1993; the year I got my first full-head perm. (I won’t count 1991, which was the year I enjoyed the volume of a permed fringe in Year Six. Oh yeah, biyatches.)
In those days, my perm was a visual feast of wavy triangular glory, complemented with Sun-In in my best attempt to have beachy, surfer girl hair to attract the attention of my crush – a beachy, surfer boy…which, funnily enough, it never did. It was boofed-up with an Afro comb, swished at school discos and dance concerts, and held fast with Cedel hairspray (aka the scent of my youth).
I amped it up a notch or few with a spiral perm for a few years. And by ‘a few years’, I mean until I was 22. It was a perm that many people assumed to be natural curls because surely no sane 22 year old would be perming her hair at the turn of the century. What can I say? I walk on the wild (haired) side.
Eventually I stopped. Probably because the only hair salons offering the service at that time were in suburban shopping centres with a majority of clientele in the blue-rinse stage of life. Anyway, I put the Afro comb away, picked up a teasing comb and managed to continue going against my follicular gene pool to successfully get ‘more air in my hair’. (Remember those ads, people?)
But what I should also remind you, dear readers, is my life’s motto courtesy of The Nanny, Fran Fine: THE BIGGER THE HAIR, THE SMALLER THE HIPS.
Given my hips are about three inches wider than normal thanks to recently giving birth, it seems I’m contemplating the option of really big hair again. Well, until it probably all starts falling out again in about six weeks’ time. Thank you, hormones. Thank you.
Talk me out of it. Or into it. Go…
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