Hair. Yes, I'm really going to write about hair. What does it have to do with a Lit Life? Well, we'll see, but I'm definitely thinking of lightening my hair a lot. As in platinum, a la Marilyn Monroe.
My hair is short now, you see, so the stakes aren't really that high. I went to a new hairdresser, a fabulously hip older guy who had 3 hair salons in San Francisco during the 60's and 70's, wrote a screenplay with Ang Lee and owns a boxing studio in Mt. Kisco, where he also does hair. How could I NOT go to him? And I will go back, because the fact that my hair is short is entirely my fault. I wanted to put myself in his hands. I didn't say anything about length. He has a mural painted of a jungle by his hair chair, and I was staring right into the eyes of a tiger. It seemed serendipitous that I would be looking at a tiger instead of in a mirror, as I have a tiger tattooed on my back.
He cut and I had to run, to take my daughter to ballet class. I called the husband to warn him that my hair was shorter than I wanted. He loves long hair. I got home and everyone said "oh no!" I grabbed my daughter, dropped her off at ballet and went out for coffee with another mom. Hours later, I got an email from the barista, saying that I had left my purse there. I was so off my game I hadn't even noticed!
In yoga class yesterday, my friend reminded me that it looked like one of the cuts I had in college. Yeah, I thought. And I had platinum hair . . . I joked with my family over dinner about it, and my husband said seriously, "You should do it!" My eleven year old son said, "oh no mom! That would be so embarrassing!"
I have been a hairdresser orphan for many years now, fecklessly wandering, looking for a place to hang my hat. In my youth I was spoiled by having hairdresser friends who would do my hair for free, from shaggy cuts to blues and pinks, graduating to sophisticated highlights in my mid 20's. Expensive hair, but I was hooked. I was hooked also on not having a decision on what to do - since I wasn't paying any money, I would allow them free reign and I was always grateful.
When I met my husband, I was 28 and had just moved to Moab. Before I left NYC I had thrown down a lot of money for the first time on my hair. It was long, straight, thick and lustrously highlighted with golds, blonds and reds.
We miss that hair. Age and the hormones from pregnancy changed the texture of my hair so that it is curly on the bottom and straight on top. Instead of losing my hair, it grows bulkier, so that my face gets completely lost in it, and it feels brittle.
The last time it was cut short was when I was on that Reality TV show almost seven years ago, the one where I was trained for four days to be a cheerleader. Don't tell me I haven't told you about that? (Well, I'm working on fictionalizing that experience right now . . .) It was right before I got pregnant with my third child and part of the experience was a "make-over".
Now it's short again. Is this my chance to do something wild? I don't think I can ever go back to that sophisticated hair I had when I met the husband. I might not ever be twenty pounds thinner either. Shouldn't I just accept what I have and have fun with it?
I would do it myself, out of a box. I think I just might. Maybe I'll chicken out of platinum, but my hair will be "lit" somehow.
P.S. I took the advice of my real life Facebook friends and went to a salon, settling for Gold instead of Platinum. It was well worth it! I am well-lit, n'est-ce pas?