I want to blame Covid 19 for my hair distress but it wouldn’t be fair. It is just one of the culprits.
The first iteration of my hair I can recall is of a middle part and two braids hanging with ribbons attached at the ends. The ribbons matched the dress, of course. I was a child; I had no say. This was how my hair was styled.
Then there came the ‘straightened’ hair. There was a heavy metal comb, heated on a very hot stove contraption that was used to do exactly as described, straighten the hair. The comb and heating contraption looked like a torture instrument from the Middle Ages and was not too far off the mark. It sizzled and clouds of smoke accompanied by the smell of burning hair pervaded the atmosphere. No matter how careful the hairdresser, there had to be at least a few times when the comb grazed your ear and you got a foretaste of what going to hell in the afterlife would be like. I loved the page boy hairstyle during this period. Here began the intense personal relationship with my hair.
Not long after came ‘creaming’. Also known as ‘processing’, or ‘touching up’ this was in reality a chemical process containing caustic lye that was combed through the hair. Those of us who thought the heat of the hot comb was awful soon found out that if the hairdresser was not adept, the burn you got from a bad job was worse than the hell fire. I have friends who have been made permanently bald through bad processing.
The great advantage of the chemical process was that once done, you did not have to repeat it for perhaps two to three months and if you were skillful at styling your own hair it was so much easier and more manageable to create what you wanted. You could curl it, keep it straight, fashion updos, French rolls, loose waves or whatever your heart desired. You had control.
There was still a little work and discomfort to be endured to keep it looking well groomed on a daily basis. Every night, the last thing you did was ‘set your hair’. Depending on the hair length and texture you would sleep with myriad curlers of varying sizes. I am still in awe of how we could sleep with our heads swollen by those curlers, hairpins, nets, clips and sleep bonnets.
Then I decided the curlers were giving me a headache so I invested in a curling iron. I may have to wake up at the crack of dawn to curl the entire head of hair but at least I had had a comfortable night’s rest.
The experimentation was not over. I did try the natural afro look. My hair was showing the years of battering and I thought if I cut it off, wore it natural, I would be giving it a chance to rejuvenate. The experiment failed. I looked in the mirror, did not recognize myself and prayed for quick regrowth so I could return to the ‘touch ups’.
I also tried wigs. They came in handy, especially when travelling, but they too gave me headaches. They received scant use.
A Caucasian friend who went to the same hairdresser as I did would go for a ‘perm’ which meant she went through a tortuous routine that made her straight hair curly. I went to make my curly hair straight. Oh, the irony!
All was well until Alzheimer disease entered my life. Suddenly I began to notice a large amount of ‘shedding’. I like that word because that is exactly what was happening. Also I was prescribed a new diabetes medication that worked really well but on researching its various effects found out that it could also lead to hair loss.
I was flummoxed. My hair is naturally fine so it does not take too well to shedding and hair loss. It is decision time. Do I reject the medication or do I take it and see how much shedding there was before I cried Uncle.
Health comes first. So I continued with the medication and bought various potions, lotions and unctions to help, I hoped, with the shedding.
Enter Covid 19, with its companion a world pandemic, and it seems my hair just gave up. The stress was too much. Every day I kept seeing more and more shedding. I was raining hair.
What do I do now? Do I just keep shedding until I am bald? Do I get a buzz cut? Wigs are fashionable and the variety in colour, cut, style, and length, endless. Should I get a magenta or green or blue? No I am too conservative for that. I will just look for gray wigs. I soon became bug eyed at the variety and the number. I had no idea there were so many shades of gray. It put the famous fifty shades to shame.
Remembering my friends who have been wearing wigs forever I decided to consult them about their wig buying habits and places of choice. I needed their experience and advice as at this moment I am living in the twilight zone of hair today, gone tomorrow.
I hope the hair revives itself, that some of the lotions and potions will do what they claim they can and so I can make the other options moot. In the meantime, if you are unsure who that hair challenged person that looks like Paula is, just say hello. It could be me.
I have abandoned the bald look. After taking a good look in the mirror I know I do not want to expose the phrenology of my cranium with its bumps and lumps to the world nor to my family and friends.
I love them too much.
The Meander: If there is reincarnation I want to come back as a peahen. No muss, no fuss with my feathers. I leave that to the peacock. He can have all the preening stress and showing off to entice, while I, in my drab plumage peck, eat and glance coyly at the display.