Bad Hair Day

You know how you take a look at some people on the street and you wonder how they walked out the door? I mean, did they really look at themselves in the mirror and say to themselves, "I look good?" Or were they looking at their reflection in the back of a saute pan? Bad clothing choices aside, everyone can have a bad hair day. That I must learn to forgive. After all, I've had about 5 months of bad hair days. And while my hair is starting to grow back, I'm told it will be months before it's long enough to style. And probably even longer before it actually looks like something other than Ronald McDonald. At least now I have an excuse for my bad hair. It's not the 80s or the early 90s. At least I don't have bangs, or a perm, or was attacked by the Crimp Monster.

However, like everyone's bad hair choices, my current bad hair will pass. It will grow out. I will discover what color it really is. (Although it can grow back a completely new color and texture.) I may get to experience curly hair without chemicals or heat. And I will look back on my Cancer bald head with the same sort of nostalgia as I do all my previous not-so-great choices. After all, I thought I looked good back then. And I had no excuse.

So, in honor of bad hair everywhere, and because I know you all LOVE pictures, I will now take you on a magical tour of my childhood hair styles. Grab your jelly shoes, slap bracelets, curling irons, flannel shirts- here we go!



Here I am in Kindergarten. I am cute. I mean, really. Fucking adorable. I'm not sure about the ruffle. I think this dress came with a jacket. The only time in my life bangs have been okay. This is probably my best look for about 15 years.

I can honestly say this is where things started to go horribly wrong. This is third grade. Let's not talk about the glasses, or the teeth, or the unfortunate collar. It's the hair, man. My first perm. And first BAD haircut. I'm not sure what my 9 year old self was going for here. I do know that thanks to this hair, my classmates called me Dolly. As in Parton. Not because of my tits- because of resemblance to her awesome 80s style. I'm not sure if I see it. But they did.

Look closely. I've been attacked by the Crimp Monster. This is circa fourth or fifth grade. The morning after a sleepover. This look took over an hour. An hour I'll never get back.

Why couldn't I just put this hat on my head? Why another perm? Why? Why? Why? Why do my bangs for softball? Why does it looks like I have roots? I had never dyed my hair. Why is there a waterfall falling from my forehead? One Curl up, one curl down. Blend. Spray.

Here we go again. May hair is definitely getting darker. Kinda like someone washed it in pond water. My permed hair is like a bell. Ding ding. And those bangs. Like I said. I spent time to look like this. No wonder Matt Minor wasn't into me.

Who told me that cutting my hair short on one side and longer on the other was cool? Oh yeah, someone else had their hair like this and she was cool. She also had really fine straight hair. Not my lion's mane. I don't have anything else to say. I really can't. It hurts me.

Oh, Lord. The perm was growing out at least. I think maybe my bangs started in the middle of my head. Are they feathered? What happens when a bad haircut grows out. I look scarily like my little brother here.

PS. Do you notice the smiley face big earrings? I had one that were peace signs, too. 1990 was a good year. The sweater went with these plaid pants. Public school boys told me I had a nice ass when I wore them. Nice.

Speaking of public school. This is what happens when your public school friend does your hair. This is the era of really really long bangs that you couldn't see out of. This is when I was in San Francisco for the cheerleading Nationals. Yes, I said cheerleading. Get over it. And one of my teammates wanted to do my hair. I thought it was a bit much even then. But they all thought it looked fierce. Fierce as in scary.

More growing out. My eighth grade graduation picture. At least the bangs are gone. But the color... yuk! The day I took this picture is coincidentally the first day I swore to my parents. No one told me we were leaving school early. I hadn't done my hair. I was working on it in the front seat of our Starcraft conversion van. My father, probably trying to be helpful, but only coming off as a patronizing jackass, told me I looked fine. In my stress over my graduation picture, I told him to fuck off. He was so shocked he shut up. Hey, that shit was a big deal when you're 14.

Why did I get another perm? Why do I look strangely like a poodle? Why did everyone think shoulder pads make you look good? Why does my dad look high? But dudes, check out his dark hair.

Homecoming 1991. I went with the fishizzle of boys. It was major social coup. It established my place in the upper echelon of high school order. I celebrated by wearing velvet and taffeta. And shoulder pads. And a LARGE matching taffeta bow on my head. Matches my corsage. BTW- that pose rocks. Teal is so eighties/early nineties. I could have been in the wedding party of the opening scene of "the Wedding Singer."

The poofy bangs up look stayed with me for a couple of years. Come on girls, you remember it- You grew out your bangs and proceeded to pull them back in a barrette. Then you stick you fingers in it and pull. Make it bigger. Make sure to strike a delicate balance between the top and the sides. Pull out the "tendrils" on the sides. Occasionally you'd curl those with a curling iron- again finding a balance between ringlet and stick straight. On the whole, this look wasn't horrible. I think I'm struck most by oh-so-fake smile and pink eyeshadow. Look closely.

Why do people think posing with a piece of sporting equipment like a supermodel looks acceptable? Just plain silly. This is the beginning of my Sun-In phase. I lightened my hair without dying it. In the process, I fried it. But for some reason, I stood on some highlight high horse, like I was above it all. Meanwhile, I spent two hours in my pink bathroom with peroxide in a bottle and blow dryer. The torture we put our hair through. I'm lucky it didn't fall out back then. And I have a really big mouth here.

WARNING! WARNING! SUN-IN OVERLOAD! HAIR COLOR NOT FOUND IN NATURE!

This is what I would look like with dark hair. And Jewish. In Russia. Long ago. Of note: You will see my ears are tucked behind my bandana. Our wig guy, also our choreographer, this amazing chain smoking gay man, put my wig on and saw my ears. He proceeded to say, "Oh, my. Those are some ears. We have to tuck those in." Ouch.

Mexico, Summer of 1995. My senior class trip. That's a margarita. Yes, I'm eating it with a spoon from a pitcher. I am very drunk. I was drunk for a week. The only time in my life beer tasted good. Then again, I didn't drink all of high school so rubbing alcohol would have tasted good. I am also very sunburned. And my hair is fried. Too much Sun-In. Too much Chlorine. Too much product. Nasty.

Same summer. Prepping for my role in "West Side Story." That's my best friend Chris. I had the most bitchin' beehive ever. It involved mucho ratting. And apparently, at the age of eighteen in a community theater production set in the fifties, the more blue eyeshadow the better. On the flip side, I'm in awe of how tiny I am. Oh, to be eighteen again. And not have hips. In terms of my hair, it's a wonder it survived.

A cast party. You can tell I'm pleased. We decided to dye our hair fun colors. Mine was supposed to be red. It was punk rock orange instead. I came home this day and my mom looked at me and said, "God made you blonde for a reason." Thankfully it was washable. I was only red for about a month. Then strawberry. My hair wasn't happy. I should have cut it all off and started from scratch.

My college years are not far enough away yet for the trends to look ridiculous. Give it time.

I'd like to look upon this time, my bald head, as a chance for me to start over. All my horribly damaged hair is gone. I will start over. My current look is not pretty. But then again, neither were these. And I grew up. I'm fine. I've recovered from them. I'll recover from this.

This too, shall pass.