So just like that I decided one day that never again will I be reduced to a ball of frizz. Never again will I be the girl with big hair. And never again will I ruin a chic, structured, well-behaved outfit with crazy-all-over-the-place dirty-blonde locks. That’s when my mission to become the lucky
bitch goddess in a Pantene advert – with shiny, sleek, smooth hair – started.
But unlike that girl in the advert: I wasn’t ‘born with it’. Hell no. I had to work hard to get – not even close to – it. I made it my sole occupation. I visited hair salons three times a week, be-friended Paolo my local hairdresser (that I even chatted with on Whatsapp in the event of hair emergency) and invested in anti-frizz products at exorbitant prices: Moroccan oil, Kerastase Elixir, Shu Uemura intensive repair, John Frieda 3-day straight, you name it.
When flat hunting in London, I made sure I was at a walking distance from a respectable salon for my outings to be secured and my weekends blow-dried. Vacations were trickier though, I gotta admit. Swimming without dipping my hair in the water was always a major challenge. It required a hat, a hair band, and a specific swimming technique (chin up, like a turtle). After all, I did not want to scare my companion by revealing my true colors (I mean… my true curls): He did not sign up for a sudden unexpected metamorphosis! Yes… swimming was definitely tricky and kinda embarrassing. But rain and humidity remained my worst enemis. How many times did I arrive to work/ a meeting with half-curly hair? GHD hair straighteners became my best friends and never left my handbag.
Five years I spent bleaching, pulling my hair so it would resemble the vague souvenir of the Barbies of my childhood. Five years I slept with deep nourishing masks, olive oil and coconut butter on my hair in the hope I would wake up transformed, with my afro-years long gone. Five years I spent depriving myself from the beautiful salty water of the sea. Five years I spent ‘repairing’ my hair from excessive heat exposure. Five years I spent scheduling my nights out around Paolo’s schedule.
Until the day I said: Enough. Enough time, money, effort, sorrow. Nothing can be done. I am born curly, and it is here to stay. It is about time I embraced it. No amount of bleaching and Brazilian blow-drying will stop this persistent, stubborn, obstinate hair from growing brown and… curly. And I might as well just let it be. Why try to tame the untamable? Why try to be that Pantene girl when I can just be my curly self? And my personal epiphany reminded me of a scene in Sex and the City. The world is made of two types of women: the
goddesses simple girls with straight hair… and the complicated girls with messy wild curly hair. I guess I will always belong to that second group. I guess I am just like my hair…
Share it if like me, you’ve had a complicated relationship with your locks.