One Dozen Heads of Hair

A Dozen Heads of Hair

         For years only Miss Clariol knew for sure, except when I let my roots get to showing. I colored my hair a number of different shades of red from the age of 33. The first time was just before I went to an Alice Cooper concert. I figured no matter how it turned out, I'd fit in for the evening. The color took very well on my brown hair, and I received complements on my new Auburn look. I guess I was hooked the first time.

         Most women have dealt with the procedure of coloring their hair. Some have it done at the beauty salon, from platinum blonde to sunlight highlights, to little old ladies with that blue gray shade of the senior generation. I grew up watching years of Miss Clariol commercials on television before I finally bought a box and did it myself. Many girls younger than myself attack that permanent hair color box for a whim, and end up coloring for a long time, or growing out the most (what I consider) hideous looking roots. The brunettes that had been blonde are just the worse. Like George Carlin would say, "put on a hat".

         So when, at age 52, I decided to go back to my natural color, I was faced with a problem. My hair was Copper Sunset, and my roots were roots. I'd seen some gray hairs towards the front, but my hair had been disguised in color for almost 20 years. I didn't really know how much gray there was. As it turned out, I didn't guess the color of the part that wasn't gray. As natural would have it, my hair is black and white--just like my mother's ancient salt and pepper look. Personally, I know that's what she was hoping to see. I was hoping to take after my father's black forever American Indian dark straight hair.

         The process I went through, coloring my hair every four, or six, or nine weeks, wasn't at all difficult, just time consuming. I only overtimed my hair a few times. I totally spaced out one time when I used a very bright color red of Feria. I like Feria, but I'll admit they aren't really natural looking colors. An over-timed Feria should be saved for Halloween. Mine happened from getting involved vacuuming carpets while my color took. I finished all the vacuuming, and my hair was-- weird.

         I found out how to control that now. You can immediately use a strong dandruff shampoo, and it'll take the extra brass out. Now that my hair is natural, I know that. I've learned lots doing research for my writing gig at HollywoodMakeupSecrets.com.

         I've only heard of one other woman in the news doing the head shaving thing that I decided on to avoid the root problem. About a week after Brittany shaved her head, I went in to the "Holy Hands Barber Shop" and asked the man with the shears to take it all off--with a number one blade (short!).

         "Are you married?" was the only personal question he asked me. He was obviously concerned that he'd alienate some potentially lethal husband. When I told him I was single, he proceeded most professionally.

         Forty five minutes, and $15.00 later, my head was like I wanted. My hair felt like Teddy Bear fur, and it was about as long as fur. I walked out with a smile on my face, and left all the black dudes in the shop smiling too. Guess they'd never heard of such a thing.

         I had one wig, but I tried the bare head look in public a few times. I'm very tall, and my short hair looks very severe and very short. Some people wouldn't look me in the eye. If my hair was shorter, the young Mexican dudes wouldn't look me in the eye. I got downright dirty looks from some black guys. Maybe it's not totally cultural, because I got looks from men and women--and few of them were smiling. My hair just made me look very severe.

         I'd started writing makeup tips, articles, blogs, and an e-book about makeup and beauty secrets, and consequently was well prepared to start wearing makeup. When one becomes a "home-body" one tends to lose interest in putting something on the face that only sweats off, you know? As my new routine emerged, I began putting on a full but natural makeup look every day, and making sure I went somewhere out of the house. Amazing things began to happen. People were smiling at me, being nice, and even sociable. I liked it.

         I bought another wig that I thought would be my hair color as it grew out. Boy, did it look dark. If it wasn't black, it was capuccino dark brown. My face looked wrong. No, it was just that the coloring I was used to was gone. I ordered a red wig, and a dark brown wig that looked like my old hair style. I was looking for the new old me, or the old new me.

         I should mention my hair connection. I went hunting on e-Bay and found a vendor in China who used Japanese monofilament fiber, and Korean workers to assemble a really nice and natural looking wig. Well, mostly natural looking. When you purchase from a photo so small that you can count the pixels, it's sometimes difficult to tell detail. It's happened two out of three times on my red wig purchases. But, the fantastic thing is that they are really nice wigs, and the starting auction bid is .99. Yes, I mean ninety-nine cents. They don't make it all up in shipping either. I consider $16.90 to be reasonable shipping from the other side of the world. And they do combine orders. It's called "Wig Zone" if you too might be interested in shopping with them. My first wig purchase a few years ago was totally American, from an American wig store I walked in to, and it cost about $125.00.

          I've been working at my collection a few months now, and I have a dozen heads of hair to select from. You have no idea how comforting such a choice can be for a person with bipolar disorder. They say we're moody. I know if I want to wear long curly red hair, straight brownish-red hair, shoulder length red hair, or my newist blondish-red straight shoulder length hair. More often than not, I feel like a red head because that's what I'm used to seeing me in, pre-natural.

         I also have long Shirley Temple curled dark long hair, straight long black hair, and two shorter black wig choices. Two of the wigs ended up not working out. One had cute short red hair, but the cap was just small enough to show my real roots by my ears unless I pulled the wig hair down and over. I was self-conscious, though I doubt anyone would have ever noticed. I has to do with self-confidence. I always wanted to be a blonde.

         Soon to sell on e-Bay: one very long curly absolutely no daoubt about being blonde wig. My skin color doesn't go. I do, however, have one wig that's sort of salt and pepper with the blonde kind of white hair. I think they call it Strawberry blonde. It's the color of hair that women in their fifties wear, you know? Well, I'm in my fifties, and that look works for me. The long blonde would only work if I decided to find a horse and be Lady Godiva for Halloween--who knows, as it's a few months yet. I could probably find a body suit on e-Bay!

         I've shaved my head the third time now, and I did it myself this time. For all the money I'm spending on wigs, there's much less shampoo, no conditioner, no hair color, and a total of $22.00 spent on hair cuts in the past four months. The second time I went to the "Holy Hands Barber Shop" it was half price Tuesday. Do you know how much women spend for haircuts at the beauty salon? Over thirty? Over forty? Even more? Even with my instant manic obsession (which I'm at least temporarily over) I think I'll be saving money in the long run.

My neighbors se me come and go with different heads of hair, and no one have ever even commented. They just say hello, and we go on with our separate ways. A long time friend occassionally pauses mid conversation to say "oh, red" or "oh, curls--you look hot", and then goes on with the conversation. It's not really turning out as weird for me as poor Brittany. Her problem isn't her hair, and neither is mine.

         No more bad hair days. I usually go bare headed around the house, and sometimes step outside without a wig. But I always wear hair when I leave the house to go to the store, or wherever. And I put on makeup. And I smile with a confidence I haven't known in many years.

         But don't tell Miss Clairol, you know? Only I know for sure now--and you, my close personal friends.