In my teens (back in the longer-the-better 70s), my hair was I M O S S I B L E! It was so thick and heavy that it was like wearing a sweaty wig 24/7. The top of it was a mass of waves all going in different directions simultaneously. Underneath all that turbulence was a mass of ringlet-type curls that my flat-haired sister would have given three teeth for :tongue:
None of the "approved" hairstyles for men worked on me at all, and the one summer I let it grow shoulder-length gave my mother the vapors, so I endured an endless series of truly hideous haircuts from about 73 until 77, when I took matters into my own hands (not literally, of course) and ditched the cheap-ass suburban unisex salons my mother paid for and spend very hard-earned cash from my job in Boston to get a genuinely professional cut on ultra-tony Newbury Street. I found a great place and spent the then-astronomical sum of about $45 to get access to a real hairdresser.
I don't think I need to remind anyone that 1977 was also the year I came out: coincidence? I don't think so :wink:
Though she never exactly got it straight, my hairstylist turned me from suburban hair-don't nightmare to a respectable-looking young man and incurred my lasting gratitude. Except when tight finances prohibited it, I continued to see her until, finally, shorter men's styles returned and I could get something simple without it's costing me half a week's wage.
By the time gel came in, I was in heaven: I affected a kind of Elvis Costello retro thing at work and limitless variations of spike-head on my off hours.
My Madonna-Blonde/JP Gaultier phase (93-95) burned my hair so badly that, at last, it thinned out to the point where a simple buzz cut and a small dollop of gel kept everything neat and comely, even after I went back to my natural light brown.
Nowadays, unless I keep it high-and-tight short, I look pretty much identical to my autistic special-needs sister: the resemblance is creepy-weird
See this is the point, people always coo enviously about how lovely and thick and healthy my hair is, doubtless people have done the same to you over the years.
What they don't realise is what a headache it is to live with hair which looks like a giant Frank Gehry fantasia in the morning and would stay that way unless you did lots and lots of things to it, and/or spent lots of money on it at the hairdressers.
My greatest envy of all, is men who can get up in the morning, shower but not wash their hair, let it air dry and look great. Frankly I could be visiting the greatest hairstylist of all time I still wouldn't be able to do that. If I get it Brazilian Blowed I'll finally have found this elusive Shangri La, this Elysium, this Zen like place of carefree coiffure
