China girl...
Words from a Bird. Day 120
So the hair straightening saga continued yesterday, with me spending almost three hours in the salon having a treatment to remove all my frizz. I always thought that only a razor would do this, but it would appear that technology has improved somewhat over the years.
When my sister and I were children, there was nothing on the market to control our frizzy hair. Our mum, who should have known better, insisted on scraping our hair off our foreheads into buns (with a lovely crocheted cap), plaits, bunches and pony tails. She pulled it so tightly, that our squinting eyes gave us limited vision, and all the kids at our school thought we were Chinese.
When she had the hair satisfactorily hauled into a rubber band, she would then tease a little bit out, spit on it and create a couple of curls which stuck out from our heads like a couple of antennae. Our headmistress used to call us The Brillo Kids, and there are many school photos of the two of us, where the photographer had to take the photo from quite a distance to get all of our hair in. To be honest, if it hadn't been for the tell-tale hair, you wouldn't have know it was us at all.
Times have changed though, and over the years my sister and I have tried and tested every new fad to get some control over our wayward hair. These have included wet look hair gel (it was the '80's), wigs, extensions, curling tongs and rollers (both of us on a Sunday night looking like we'd stepped off the set of Coronation Street). But it would appear that we now have it sussed, managing to look fairly presentable as and when required. GHD's and the Boar Bristle Round Brush are our saviours.
So back to my time in the salon today. Keratin is the new kid on the block in the battle against the frizz. Unfortunately, the application of it had to be done over three hours, most of which was spent with my head wrapped in cling film. I thought I looked like I was wearing an oversized condom on my head, as did the man sitting next to me who failed to stifle a giggle every time our eyes met in the mirror.
I don't know what he was doing there anyway - men should be made to go the barbers. The hair salon should be a haven of peace and tranquillity for us girls, not somewhere where men go. I was at the basin next to his when the time eventually came to wash the treatment off. He didn't want the massage chair on (yes, it was one of those salons), he didn't want a head massage and he definitely didn't want conditioner. He just wanted 'the basic'. Well mate, if you don't want the lovely frilly bits, GO TO THE BLOODY BARBERS...
The end result of my condom-wearing afternoon was hair so soft and straight that a hair grip would simply slide off into hair accessory oblivion.
Son number 2 said I reminded him of 2004 Victoria Beckham which was kind of him.
I'm thinking more Iggy Pop.....
So the hair straightening saga continued yesterday, with me spending almost three hours in the salon having a treatment to remove all my frizz. I always thought that only a razor would do this, but it would appear that technology has improved somewhat over the years.
When my sister and I were children, there was nothing on the market to control our frizzy hair. Our mum, who should have known better, insisted on scraping our hair off our foreheads into buns (with a lovely crocheted cap), plaits, bunches and pony tails. She pulled it so tightly, that our squinting eyes gave us limited vision, and all the kids at our school thought we were Chinese.
When she had the hair satisfactorily hauled into a rubber band, she would then tease a little bit out, spit on it and create a couple of curls which stuck out from our heads like a couple of antennae. Our headmistress used to call us The Brillo Kids, and there are many school photos of the two of us, where the photographer had to take the photo from quite a distance to get all of our hair in. To be honest, if it hadn't been for the tell-tale hair, you wouldn't have know it was us at all.
Times have changed though, and over the years my sister and I have tried and tested every new fad to get some control over our wayward hair. These have included wet look hair gel (it was the '80's), wigs, extensions, curling tongs and rollers (both of us on a Sunday night looking like we'd stepped off the set of Coronation Street). But it would appear that we now have it sussed, managing to look fairly presentable as and when required. GHD's and the Boar Bristle Round Brush are our saviours.
So back to my time in the salon today. Keratin is the new kid on the block in the battle against the frizz. Unfortunately, the application of it had to be done over three hours, most of which was spent with my head wrapped in cling film. I thought I looked like I was wearing an oversized condom on my head, as did the man sitting next to me who failed to stifle a giggle every time our eyes met in the mirror.
I don't know what he was doing there anyway - men should be made to go the barbers. The hair salon should be a haven of peace and tranquillity for us girls, not somewhere where men go. I was at the basin next to his when the time eventually came to wash the treatment off. He didn't want the massage chair on (yes, it was one of those salons), he didn't want a head massage and he definitely didn't want conditioner. He just wanted 'the basic'. Well mate, if you don't want the lovely frilly bits, GO TO THE BLOODY BARBERS...
The end result of my condom-wearing afternoon was hair so soft and straight that a hair grip would simply slide off into hair accessory oblivion.
Son number 2 said I reminded him of 2004 Victoria Beckham which was kind of him.
I'm thinking more Iggy Pop.....
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