More Confessions from the Curly-Haired Girl

The CHG loves her hair. That goes without saying. But the daily maintanence can be a bitch. The emollient conditioners, the detanglers, the expensive product that locks the curls in place without extraneous build up...some days it's enough to make her say "fuck it."

Up until last December, the CHG's hair was down to her waist. On the rare occasion when she [sinned against all Curly-Heads--the horror!] straightened it, she could almost sit on it. Finally tiring of the mermaid look, the CHG cut four inches off, though it looked more like a full seven. (Curls tend to spring up when the weight comes off.)

The Teddy Bear and other worshippers of the spiraled locks were muchly dismayed. "Don't worry," she assured them. "It grows like a weed. I'll have it back down to my ass within 3 months."

For as short time, she could get around the daily maintanence. She stretched the routine to hold for two days, skipping a day of the intense regimen in between. The whole experience felt liberating. Not only was she able to sit back without catching her hair, she could wake up in the morning and not worry about re-perfecting each curl. The shorter the hair, the tighter the curl, the less need for product and daily attention. Sooo nice.

Sadly, the hair did grow like a weed and this short respite could not last. But the CHG was unable to admit it was time to return to the daily 15 minute post-shower schedule. She had grown complacent and lazy as her hair continued its frenzied race to her waist. So she looked for shortcuts. Took to eschewing gels and mousse altogether for the simplicity of a mere hair serum. It had no hold, but the curls responded well, if only for a few short hours before dissolving into frizz balls. But the CHG didn't care. She had nobody to impress.

No one was ever the wiser. People lacking in the joy of curls can rarely tell the difference between freshly set bounce and day-old, limp waves. The whole concept of curls is so foreign to them they seem to enjoy it all in equal measure. At least that's what she told herself to keep up her lazy charade.

Until today. When she had to meet with an old friend turned client. She had not seen her friend in quite some time and didn't want her hair giving out in the middle of their photo shoot. So she acquiesced to her inner perfectionist and reluctantly pulled out the mousse. Took the time to make sure every individual curl was coated and set.

It was a huge hassle.

And in the end, the client was too nervous over his own pictures to tell the difference. But her hair looked great all throughout the session.

And that is all that matters.