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Good
Less good
W00t
Meh
When I was little my granny use to berate my mum for “brushing out my curls”. Given that I could never remember a time when I had curls and that my hair was pretty straight I put it down to a granny-ism. Like her claim that the allies bombed Pearl Harbor to get the Americans into the war or that public toilets are to be feared (she would have loved those paper toilet seat covers). Then I moved to NYC and I gradually got wavy hair. Faux wave, but wave none the less. Maybe it is a climate thing or my granny channeling curls from the other side.
When I got my hair chopped and bleached last month I started trying to work the messy bed head look. A friend suggested I try Bumble & Bumble Surf Spray and it was love at first tousle. I’ve been experimenting with whether it’s better on damp or dry hair, if damp should I spray and then blow dry or just scrunch scrunch scrunch. Today the weather conditions and the scrunching paid off and I think I nailed surfer chick hair. And my granny was right my mum did brush out my curls!
I want to take a moment to share. I am going through a rare period of having consistently good hair days. Two weeks on the trot and I even have the photographic evidence (the generally v unflattering passport pic) to support my claim, which I may get Alex to try and attach later.
For the past fourteen years I have had a sadomasochistic relationship with my locks. I have abused them with agents biological and chemical. It has been cropped, bobbed, layered, bleached, past through the full spectrum of reds and browns, not to mention the more exotic hues usually restricted to tropical fish and fowl, but for some reason never permed. If it could, my hair would have divorced me, or at the very least got a restraining or a cease and desist order. Why am I not bald? I do not know, perhaps it is just trying to prove that it is more stubborn than its owner.
A few weeks ago, in an attempt to start re-adjusting to the real world that is beckoning to me, I hacked off my heliotrope hair extensions. Since then it has been behaving. Alex reckons it is because they were synthetic and causing an excess amount of static electricity, there speaks a physicist. Well, I am offering my hair an amnesty. I shall just accent you with a few, professional administered high lights on the T section and leave the rest. If a tree can grow in Brooklyn, then maybe my tresses can in Jersey.
Okay – in some ways I can be quite a luddite.
I have just fallen in love with my brand new purchase of ceramic hair straightners….this revolution up till now had past me by. I used to envy the women with sleek, shiny hair and curse at my own inability to master the parallel use of hair drier and brush. Now my ratty mane can be free from centuries confinement of ponytails and bunches 
What lead me to roam the aisles of the pharmacy? Why frustration at trying to finish an essay on Thomas Hardy’s haunting poem The Voice of course! Now with my newly straighten locks I have a feeling it will be a doddle
That sound is me falling off the wagon….after nearly two years of not dying my hair myself and 7 months of not dying it at all, I have given in to the dark side (literately). My name is Leah, and I am a self-abuse hair dyer. In the past, perfectly good hair colour has been ruined with my meddling….I have vivid flash backs that still give me cold sweats. So, why am I returning to my old ways – well in one word INTERVIEW. I am registering with temping agencies next week and all this white hair has to go. I had hoped that my premature whiteness would look cool – kinda like Rogue in X-Men but alas no.
