26 years of living with hair: A Photo Anthology

Morning readers. Hope your day is going well. This is out early because I wrote it last night. Sometimes I cheat.


I was born with hair. It didnt start out curly, but it eventually got there. Im a firm believer that society places women with curly hair in the following categories: insane, hippie-ish, ugly, unfashionable, wild, and flighty. In scary movies/psychological thrillers where the female lead is being portrayed as insane, there is 75% she will have curly hair. Dont question me. In televison shows--ex Ugly Betty--Betty is seen as unfashonable and is often shown with frizzy, not smooth locks, and when tranformed into something pretty, her hair magically straightens. One time I watched American Idol and there was this chick singing with super curly hair. I think she had made it through the first few rounds. She was gorgeous. And had a hot body. But the fist thing they told her to do was relax her hair, make it straighter. I threw my Roundy's White grape juice container--we are classy and often drink right out of the bottle in Q town-- right at the screen. One time in 8th grade, Mickey Cease told me that I would be hot if I straightened my hair and dyed it blond. Gah.

Needless to say, but I will anyway, over these past 26 years I have developed a complex about my hair that Im just finally getting over. There are still days it bugs me, but it no longer makes me feel like a piece of shit on a regular basis. To help illustrate the reason why my hair has played such a big role in my life, I have decided to share some home photos with you fine people.
Begin.

I was born pretty much bald...and with a really big head. My hair didnt pose much of a problem for me in these early days. I did however enjoy lilacs and relaxing on faux fur blankets. I still do:

A year in and I had a splendid growth on my head. What better way to celebrate your infant daughter no longer being bald then to make her look like a bastard child of one of the Monkees. Note the creepy molester car over my left shoulder watching me play in my front yard:

Your eyes aren't deceiving you. Thats 100% genuine mullet. Old ladies would say "Oh what a handsome little boy" to me even when I had a dress on. Im serious.



Alright, mullet got old, how about we try some flip action. The only problem is, at this point my hair was already beginning its descent into curliness, so the thickness made my flip look like a wig. It wasnt a wig. I woke up with that shit every morning. Also, every girl child under the age of 16 had that fucking teal & pink Huffy:

2nd grade and mom decided Big Bows and perfectly styled bangs are the answer. Aww I actually look cute in this one. PS-This begins the Saga of Prints. This probably has a lot to do with the reason I wear almost nothing but solid colors now as an adult:


Alright! 3th or 4th grade and we are lucky enough to witness the infamous side pony with giant bow and poof bangs. Why Im dressed like a Mime and have a terrifying mask pin attached to my shirt, we may never know. That pin seriously scared me. Also, please note this was the year I realized the giant gap between my front teeth wasn't socially acceptable and is the reason my smile looks like Im hiding my teeth. Because I was:


Enter 6th grade and the year I believe I am old enough to do my own hair. Mom was nice enough to let me try. And the result:
Troy Polamalu's son wearing a jester cap. I dont understand it either. Oh & sweet overalls:

So middle school is in full swing and I realize simply combing my hair out after it dries and letting it just do its thing isnt as gorgeous as I first hoped it would be. Here is the year I start trying hair products to tame the beast. Gel. No one should ever use gel. This is take your daughter to work day by the way. I look like a fucking cocker spaniel:

This picture showcases my overuse of gel, my attempt at dying my hair through the use of hydrogen peroxide and the resulting orange bangs, and my addition of braces, which, when you have teeth the size of an infant, makes you look like Little John with a new grill on instead of a simple awkward teen with metal in her mouth. Believe it or not I actually had boyfriends during these years. It must have been my outstanding personality:

And thus ends our photo anthology. Im ending with that picture because it is the lowest point on the totem pole of my hair's life, and after this year we begin the climb back up into the realm of self acceptance, tolerance, cooperation, and occasional attractiveness. Thank you for sticking it out through this magical journey.

A word to all my curly hair brothers and sisters: Dont let Carrot Top ruin it for us. Keep on keeping on.