In my 20-odd years, I’m grown a lot of hair. Like, tens of feet worth, probably. Maybe even hundreds. It just grows quickly. It’s also very thick; ponytails offer record-level headaches – that is, until the next trim and thin. (Believe me, balding dudes, if I could share it, I absolutely would.)
With winter coming up, it’s kind of like a built-in scarf. And aside from the thousands I spend per year on hairspray and conditioner, I mostly like having it around. On top of my head that is, not so much for everywhere else it ends up. Like, everywhere; my sheets, the shower, and especially the floor. Vacuuming and sweeping calls for record amounts of clean up clean up. As in a cleaning of the devices you are using to clean.
My office chair gets lint rolled every few months, calling for multiple sheets of paper. Even my car falls victim. Basically, I could never get away with crime; my long-stranded DNA would be everywhere.
Making Long Hair Even More Giant
This Halloween I dressed as Kelly Kapowski, one of my childhood heroes. Somewhat on account of my ridiculous mane. An hour of teasing and hairspray-ing in (and some strategically-placed bobby pins for faux 90s bangs), and my hair was out of control. Like the hugest it’s been since the triangle perm from third grade. A fact I could definitely see, but was also told by others … repeatedly. They asked if I was wearing was a wig, gawked at the sheer size, and most hilariously, asked, “What I look like normally.”
Spoiler: It’s the same, just with flatter hair.
Don’t Call it a Comeback, Please
My aunt has been saying for years she wishes big bangs would become popular again. Because “they’re so easy.” But after all the combing and shampooing that was required to move said big-ness, I can’t say I agree. Easy to initiate, sure (there are pretty much no rules/expectations other than hair that is super sized). Not so easy to remove.
One comeback I will follow, however, is that of chopping my hair off. Three times I’ve had an entire ponytail sliced from my head. Which then gets mailed off to wig-making companies so they can keep cancer kids’ heads warm.
It’s a tradition I started in college for my friend who beat teenage leukemia. The former version of her head and the current versions’ of many others can’t grow hair. Because of the cancer-fighting poisons. And since I have more than enough strands to go around, I thought I’d even things out. I have a similar idea for years of being alive and underage drinkers.
After donations, the wig-makers even send you a nice thank you card, addressed to “Methaney.” Not that I know who this Methaney is, but she must be good with the drugs to get diseased-based thank yous.
Until the next big chop, however, my hair remains as giant an unruly as ever. Your conditioner fund donations are welcomed and appreciated.