A History of Hair
I have two major identifying features: my height and my hair. Now, I could go on and on about how shitty it was to be taller than LITERALLY EVERYONE in high school, but that’s not what this post is about. This post is about my hair. However, my hair has been kind of unremarkable as of late. It’s just kind of brown and curly and short-ish and just… there. But that wasn’t always the case.
Let’s start at the beginning.
This is my paternal grandmother, Ginger:
I know, right? Since my mom’s side of the family has relatively straight, light-brown hair, I think it’s safe to assume I get my curly hair genes from this beauty right here. However, there’s no way she just woke up with her hair like this. Dealing with curly hair takes serious skill and years of practice, and since my mom has straight, easily manageable hair, I was on my own to deal with my inherited unruly curls. This is what happened:
Needless to say, it took me a while to discover the wonders of gel, mouse, and diffusers. But eventually, through trials, errors, and teasing, I eventually figured out how to manage it. Somewhere around high school, I even got it to look pretty damn good (if I do say so myself):
What a cutie, right? I certainly didn’t think so at the time. So what did I do? Every week, twice a week, for two whole years, I straightened the fuck out of my hair to get this:
How my hair didn’t just completely fall out from heat damage, I’ll never know. Then, somewhere around senior year, I got tired of straightening my hair every few days and gave it up. But I couldn’t just leave my hair alone, of course. HOW ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO BE AN INTERESTING INDIVIDUAL? So, I went red, which, funny enough, really came in handy when I went to a production of Rocky Horror:
And then, college happened. I was in a new city, had new friends, and fell for the wrong person one too many times. I’m not particularly proud of this era, but god, if it isn’t entertaining to look at these photos.
It became this endless game of “how can I make my hair crazier than it already is” and, just like the straightening phase, I got tired of it. So, as comic con approached, I started to think of how I could work my hair into my costume. Then, Mad Max came out. I just couldn’t resist:
It was the ultimate crazy thing. Plus, everyone we passed at Comic-Con asked for a photo, so was it worth it? I’d say so. However, I didn’t necessarily think the whole “growing back out thing.” It takes longer than you’d think.
So, after two years of being occasionally mistaken for a very tall teenage boy, I actually now look most similar to the way I looked in high school. And as traumatic as that time was, I’m actually okay with it. It’s the first time in a very long time that I resemble normal- and that’s okay.
But, if history has taught us anything, it’s that I’ll probably get bored of normal too.