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In 1983, I decided that I HAD to be Jennifer Beals. You know the chick..... that exotic, dark, “maniac” who spent her days welding and her nights dancing like a rock star? The way I saw it, what stood between me- suburban white chick and her- urban ethnic chick- was a perm. I talked my soon to be sister in law, Kassie, into going with me to a salon in Chattanooga where I told my stylist what I wanted. She eyed my lank (then) auburn locks dubiously. “Are you sure?” She asked. “Oh, HECK YEAH, I am sure!” I enthused! “I need a perm! I need a SPIRAL PERM!” In 1983 it was all about the spiral perm. I told my stylist that I wanted to look “exactly” like Jennifer Beals. I think she looked right in my whiter than white face and wanted to laugh.... but hey, if I was willing to shell out the dough.... who was she to argue? The finished look took was way more frizz.... and way less glamorous than I imagined. I resigned myself to pulling my frizzy auburn mop into an ugly ponytail for the next year. It was a BAD look, but certainly not the worst in my hair history. Among the top: The $ 200 asymmetrical haircut I had in Orlando Florida. I had read in Vogue magazine that this salon was “one of the best in the country” and of course I had to have a cutting edge haircut. I think the cost was my husband’s naval officer’s salary for two weeks. My finished result? The left side was 10” long and the right side was 4” long. I thought I was kind of cool and heck, I was 22 years old and what did I know? The worst was still to come. I think I hit rock bottom with the wedge hairstyle and the red velvet cake hair. At that time, I was working full time at a newspaper and eating even more than full time. I was eating OVERTIME and doing no more movement than is required in typing. Which is to say........ no movement at all. Lunch WAS my profession and I was good at it. I gained fifty pounds and decided that if I was going to live with my new hefty big body; the best way to do it was with a snazzy new hairstyle. After all..... I was pulling down the bucks as a career woman and I could afford to get my hair done whenever I wanted. I thought a bold new color would take the emphasis away from my burgeoning hips and made the plunge into a deep dark red the color of a Victorian sofa. Let’s just say..... the Bozo the Clown look was complete. Since that time I have dabbled in hair disasters but pretty much have played it safe. Recently, I have gone to an above the shoulders in length ( a “must” for the over-forty crowd, as I read) and more or less stuck with a strawberry blonde color which usually fades to nondescript blonde in a few weeks. Not exactly a risk-taker..... I still don’t have to worry about a radical new look at an age when I am not sure whether to be more concerned with pimples or wrinkles. My friends are, for the most part, younger than I, and although they are way more cutting edge than I - most have learned what works for them in the hair-al department. They too have “played it safe” when it comes to their hair. Which is why Kristi’s “new look” today came as such a shockeroo. Let the record state that there is no way on God’s green earth to mess up Kristi. This chick is one gorgeous honey; tall, mega-thin, blonde, blue-eyed...... a face like an angel and a killer sense of fashion. But the new haircut........ not so much. A series of unfortunate events had led her to a new stylist and lets just say...... has anyone ever cut a Barbie’s hair off? Our adorable, pretty girl looked like my Barbie doll did when my sister Dawn got her scissors on that gal back in 1973. Chopped. Hacked. Sawed. Tufts of hair. Her pretty little face under a cap of mangled hair........ my friends and I could only gape. Kristi’s hands kept nervously touching, pressing, rearranging the shorn bits of gold that used to be her hair into worse and worse versions of a really bad haircut. We could not lie. “I think I’d cry.” Tammy finally said, after looking at Kristi long and and hard under her eyebrows. “Maybe if you style it yourself..... with a round brush.....” Connie, the problem solver suggested. “Man.” I said, exhaling. “I think I’d start drinking in the shower.” I wasn’t talking about Diet Doctor Pepper, either. We all agreed, however, that the problem for Kristi, despite her mangled hair was minimal considering her maximum good looks and her flawless figure. All of us, I think, were imagining the horror that COULD be- should the fractured hair end up on one of OUR less than perfect heads.
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