What is it with girls and our hair? From a young age, I remember being largely unsatisfied with what God gave me. As a little girl, I had thick hair that laid flat and boringly straight. I would sit forever while my mom put foam rollers in my freshly washed hair and then try to sleep on them. This was all done in the hopes I would wake up and look like one of the Charlie’s Angels. Unfortunately, my hair would only hold the curl until first recess and then flatten out which left me infuriated.

At the beginning of sixth grade l I think I begged and whined enough that my mom took me to her hairdresser to get a “body wave”. A “body wave” was somehow more benign than a perm and I was disappointed to leave the salon with puffy hair weirdness rather than the cork screw curls I had dreamt of

I was a child of the eighties so my middle school years took me to dark places. I experimented with layers and feathering. I purchased hairspray and began to achieve bang height with a combination of acurling iron and aerosol. I flirted with a mullet and got another hideous perm.

In the summer after eighth grade, I woke up one morning, showered and was stunned when I looked in the mirror and saw curls. Puberty had changed my hair texture overnight. No more limp locks. I now had kinky curls in the back corners of my head and a fair amount of frizz. More bent than uniformly curly, I wasn’t sure what to do with this new development.

In those days Paul Mitchell made some kind of liquid gel and I quickly learned that scrunching with it would make my hair more curly. What I achieved in uniformity I traded for crunch. I got on that bandwagon of big hair and remained there through my high school years. My hair really wore me in those days and I grew to only be comfortable if my hair was large and unmoving.

In college my roommate said she worried about the health of my hair which was over styled and lame. She only said that it didn’t seem healthy. I added in the “lame” as my own critique. I tried to follow her lead to be more natural but the outcome was not what I hoped. I learned to appreciate a chin length bob over the tangled big mess but that was the only progress for me in the 90’s.

Over the last three decades, I have experimented with length, texture and color. There have been some successes and several failures. I have been dark, platinum (only for a few days—it was hideous), and now I’m wrestling with transitioning to gray.

I have the very best hairstylist in the world. I had my final appointment with her before leaving for France today. It causes me a great deal of anxiety to be leaving her trustworthy hands behind. She gave me my first blowout and looking in the mirror afterwards, I thought I saw the face of God. She knows what to do, and steers me into thinking it is my idea. She is always right.

Today I was at the salon for 4 hours. I think that is longer than when I labored and delivered Lily in the hospital. I had some kind of texturizing treatment so my hair won’t frizz as violently when it air dries. I had my gray expertly blended withe the beige blonde I have always wanted to have. The outcome was stunning. I feel like a completely different person than I did before she did her magic. I’m not trying to figure out how long I can maintain it. What dry shampoo do I use to prolong the style with my workouts?

Vanity is complicated. I am beholden to my hair and that is pretty embarrassing. I am actively thinking about flying my beautiful hairdresser to France. For tonight though, I am on top of the world. Jennifer Aniston would be jealous.