Yes, that happened. I permed my hair. My first perm was when I was 5 and it was definitely, literally, without a doubt an AFRO. My mom forced it upon me again when I was 7, 9 and 14. In retrospect, CPS really should have been called. I remember walking into my Kinder class early with my mom because I was so sad, embarrassed and upset and I just KNEW my teacher would bring attention to it if my mom didn’t head her off before the bell rang. So, my mom politely asked the teacher not to say anything in front of the other kids. Despite this, my heart still burns as I type from recalling the mortification of going to school with a blonde afro. Let’s just say, I didn’t feel it was my style.
So, Why would I voluntarily perm my hair as a conscious 30 year old? I guess so I could finally “own” what happened to me. I’ve never been a hair person, and I do actually hate how plain my hair seems to me. As SuperCuts products remind me, I lack the Kardashian Shine (it’s a product, I swear. If you pay $30 and rub it on your hair, your ass will be able to catch champagne in a glass). In my mind, I thought a perm would add some sort of …. pizazz to what was otherwise lifeless. Hence, #60 (perm my hair).
Gina, my hairstylist friend I’ve mentioned in past posts, was a good sport about it all. She tried with all her heart to talk me out of it. I have to hand it to her- she was right on all accounts. But I was determined, so she reluctantly agreed. Two weeks after my little guy was born, I got my hair did.
The smell is exactly the same. The process hasn’t changed. Why would it? Once the 80’s past, there was no need to make it more user-friendly. The curl was a fabulous beach-bum coastal wave that fit fabulously with my beach-bum coastal life and it lasted, despite my more earnest efforts, a total of 3 weeks before it washed away. Gina did warn me. I can still feel a curl here or there when I run my hands through it. Lesson learned, bucket list item checked off- permanently.