Archives For Hair

A Touch of Hag

Madame Weebles —  July 8, 2012 — 93 Comments

I’ve written a few uplifting/poignant/maudlin posts over the past few weeks.  Now I have to let out the snark because it’s been backing up on me and seeping out of my pores in a most unsavory manner.

Today’s rant is about this product:

You’ve no doubt seen commercials or ads for this stuff. Men can use this dye to get rid of most of the grey (I prefer this spelling, I don’t care how it’s spelled on the package) in their hair, to give them that distinguished look. Because if you get rid of all the grey, you might not be taken seriously.  And if you have too much grey, you probably won’t get a lot of hot young tail.  Touch of Gray gives you that happy medium—the look that says, “I’ve been around the block a few times but I’m not too old for another few laps, if you know what I’m saying.”

You’ve also no doubt noticed that there’s no Touch of Gray for women.  That will never fly.  They’d have to call it a Touch of Hag.  Maybe they could market it to women who are tired of getting hit on all the time or who want to be taken more seriously at their jobs.

Because grey isn’t usually considered hot on chicks.  You don’t hear a lot of women say they don’t mind the greys around their temples.  Sure, there are women who have no qualms about letting their greys show—some even flaunt them.  But they’re the exceptions that prove the rule.

Yours truly has been going grey since she was 18.  If I don’t touch up my roots regularly, I get that white/grey halo effect that really isn’t attractive on anyone who hasn’t been beatified by the Catholic church.  If I went all grey, I’d probably look something like this:

On the other hand, men who are all grey fare much better.  Look at these smokin’ hot Silver Foxes:

 

One might argue that I’ve bought into society’s beliefs about what’s attractive/not attractive on women.  It’s true, I probably have.  I’ll probably keep coloring my hair until I’m too lazy or just don’t care anymore.

Maybe that’s when Touch of Hag would come in handy: when you want to look like you’ve been flying on the broomstick for a while but aren’t too old for a few more rides.  If you know what I’m saying.

Yesterday afternoon I was waiting for the bus.  Nothing exciting there.  But then I saw a man wearing in a black minidress, black go-go boots, and a huge blonde wig, walking up the street.  He carried a gold lamé purse.  The whole look was truly fabulous.

He stopped at the ATM in front of the bus stop.  While he was at the machine, a woman got on line behind him.  I’m not sure if something transpired between them because I wasn’t really paying attention.  But all of a sudden the guy was ranting at this chick.  He gave her a bunch of attitude and wagged his finger at her, and concluded his tirade with, “I’m just glad I’m gay!”  And he blew past her in a huff.

I have no idea why he went off on her—maybe she said or did something to set him off (she did kind of look like she could be a bitch), or maybe he just decided he didn’t like her for reasons known only to him.  Everyone around me looked at him like he was contagious and gave him a wide berth.

I didn’t get a crazy vibe from him—raging drama queen, maybe, but not crazy.  I found him interesting.  For starters, he looked fantastic in that dress, with shaplier legs than I’ve seen on most women.  That’s not fair.  Secondly, I wondered why he was wearing knee-high boots in 95-degree weather.  Maybe he really was out of his mind.  But the boots went well with the dress and he really worked it.  He looked like Rupaul but with darker skin and less makeup.

As he passed me we made eye contact and I smiled at him.  His whole face smiled back and he said, “You’re beautiful, honey.”  I said, “Thank you, so are you!”  That seemed to make him very happy.

But I couldn’t help myself, I had to know:  “I hope you don’t mind my asking but aren’t those boots really hot on a day like today?”  He laughed.  “Oh no, they’re actually a lot more comfortable than you’d think!”

As he sashayed away he looked at me over his shoulder and yelled, “You have a beautiful weekend, honey!”  I thanked him and wished him a beautiful weekend as well.

He made my day a little brighter.

Curlicue power!

Madame Weebles —  June 24, 2012 — 100 Comments

The movie Brave premiered this weekend.  And while I don’t have much interest in seeing this film, it has major significance to me: its main character, Princess Merida, is the first animated heroine with curly hair.

Look at all those wild, glorious curlicues!  Do you have any idea how revolutionary this is?  In all other animated films, the heroines have straight hair—maybe with a slight wave, but that’s it.

I, Madame Weebles, have curly hair much like Princess Merida’s (except not as long and not as orange).  And I love it.  But it took me a lonnnnnnggg time to get to this point.  Like most other girls with curly hair, I wanted straight hair when I was growing up.  As a child of the 70s, I was obsessed with Cher’s hair in particular:


I wanted that hair so badly.  I was fascinated by how smooth and shiny it was.  It was hypnotic.  It was nothing like the frizzy, unruly mess sitting on my head.  And despite the popularity of the perm during the 70s and 80s, there weren’t a lot of curly-haired celebrities to look up to.  Look at who I had to choose from:

   

With role models with this, who needs enemies?

I spent many years fighting with my hair to make it straight.  My weapons of choice were the hair dryer and chemical relaxers.  But my curlicues never surrendered.  They were masters of deceit and cunning, lying in wait.  Before I left the house every morning, I’d do a final check to make sure my head was a curl-free zone.  Then, a while later, without warning, SPROING!!!!  One of those little bitches would pop up.  Then another.  And another.  Until I looked like this:

Finally, I realized I had no choice but to wave the white flag.  You win, curlicues.  I can’t beat you.  I laid down my hair dryer and made peace with them.  I made offerings of conditioners and gels.  Now my curls and I are BFFs.

These are some of my curlicues.

I’m struck by the fact that there still aren’t a lot of curly girls out and about.  Even now, with more diverse looks and ethnicities being embraced, you usually see women rocking the curly hair in movies and stuff only when it’s intended to convey a certain look—wild, exotic, sinister, whatever.  Now sure, curly girls are good at causing all sorts of mayhem, but why limit us to that role?

That’s why I’m so glad Princess Merida and her Brave curlicues have debuted.  Own it, sister!