Magic Hair

I am in search of Magic Hair. It took a while to realize this on account of the denial. You see, I don’t want to be a woman who cares much about her hair. I want to be a woman who cares about refugees and elephants and what to do about food waste, and I am a woman who cares about those things. But I also care about my hair. I can’t help but see this as a flaw. Which is stupid. I know this is stupid, and yet, here I am, writing about it.

I like to think that I am not the only person with this hair conundrum. In fact, I think all women (most women) would like to wake up with hair that looks great, makes them feel great, all without having to do anything to get it to look like that aka Magic Hair. I told this to my hairdresser last time I was there and she told me “we all want magic hair.” I looked at her elegant twist with this perfect amount of dishelved-ness about it and couldn’t help but think that that was easy for her to say, what with her having found Magic Hair and all. I like the woman that cuts my hair, but everything about that interaction is awkward for me. It’s as though all my feelings about my hair get distilled into this forty-five minute window. I try to act cooler than I am while pretending that I am above such matters as superficial as hair all while paying some one $60 plus tip to cut and style it. It doesn’t help that the last time I went, the hairdresser asked the guy at the reception counter to take pictures of her previous client (who had fabulous hair) and she has never asked me to get my picture taken. (Of course, I hate getting my picture taken and didn’t even know that getting your picture taken at the hair place was a thing… so I’m not sure what I’m complaining about here).

Also, I never know what to say to the hair lady. Sometimes we talk about TV, but as my favorite TV show is Friends and Daniel and I recently started watching The West Wing on Netflix, I really don’t have much to say about TV and you can only talk about the weather for so long. Also, as I have been trying to write more and don’t really like going out, I never have any good verbs for her when she asks what I’ve been doing. I feel like I let her down somehow by not telling her about my upcoming Halloween party. I should start lying. But I don’t. Instead I have the below conversation with myself in my head.

You don’t have to say anything. You’re just one of those really calm Zen people who exudes peace and calmness where they go. You’re probably making the whole salon more peaceful now. You’re probably her favorite client.

Yeah right. She probably thinks this is the longest haircut of her life. I bet she wishes she were cutting the hair of that ex-New Yorker in the next chair over. She doesn’t seem to have a problem talking with her hair lady.

Don’t think about that. Just think calm things. Take a deep breath. Try to find the god that lives inside your heart or whatever.

Here’s a question. If the calm at the center of your heart is the real you that’s connected to all things, including God, then what is all the other crap in your brain? Is that your human-ness? Is the good part of you really God and all the rest of you is human? Does that make humans inherently bad? Is that where original sin comes into play?

You are so impressive, thinking about original sin while at the hair salon. How many other people are thinking deep thoughts like this right now? Ok ok, go back to thinking about original sin, but make sure your face is really pensive, like you can’t talk because you’re so philosophical.

I think these thoughts are making you decidedly less deep and philosophical.

Shhhh… I’m looking stoic right now.

 Meanwhile, who knows what the hair lady is thinking. It doesn’t help that usually I go in after work and sink into the chair like I’ve spent the last 14 hours waiting tables at a diner while worrying about my sick kid. It’s all very dramatic.

I don’t know how it got to this. Though, as hairstyles have changed over time, I suppose I’m just thinking the same things women have thought for literally thousands of years. I wish I had the guts to shave it off and be done with it. Instead I have a long pixie that I like for three weeks, like ok for two weeks, and then spend two weeks thinking I should grow it out into a bob so I look like Adele. Even though, I won’t look like Adele on account that I’m not Adele. And for this, let’s just go ahead and blame the media. Because anytime you see an interview with Adele talking about being a mother (which I agree would be really hard), or Angelina Jolie talking about the refugee crisis (which I believe she deeply cares about) or Kerry Washington talking about how she doesn’t do anything with her hair when she’s not working (which I also believe because why would she lie about this) you know what? They have great hair while they’re talking, that’s what. Legendary hair.

Here’s the thing about Magic Hair: I think that if I magically had this great hair then everything would fall into place. I think that I would have more confidence and gumption. I think everything from cleaning to writing would go easier. If I had the Magic Hair, my wardrobe would finally look put together, my thighs would look toned, my every interaction would be smooth and funny and charming. If I just had the hair, then my apartment would come together and be significantly less cluttered and I could finally commit to reading War and Peace and finish that damn Hitler biography I’ve been reading for two and half years. Magic Hair is just a way of procrastinating, a way of searching for the easy way out. Because you know what? Writing would go better if I did it more. My apartment would be less cluttered if I hung up my coat every night. I could tackle War and Peace by reading War and Peace. It’s not magic. It’s just a matter of doing it. So why am I not doing it? Now that’s the real question that needs answering and it has nothing to do with hair and I can’t figure out how to blame the media for it.

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