For as long as I can remember, my mom has delivered what I (now) affectionately refer to as The State of Your Hair Address. It was bewildering…how could she so heartlessly pick on ME, her firstborn daughter? But after going through some boxes of old stuff my folks sent me recently, I know exactly how, and why. And, not to be outdone by my husband’s Napoleon Dynamite soul-baring, I now present 12 Years of Bad Hair:
First grade You may find it hard to tell because I was quite the little actress at this age, but I was miserable here — John Lennon glasses, fiberglass-weave blouse handmade by my grandmother, sweater vest (in south Louisiana), awkward pose. But my lank locks were really the star of the show.
Second grade Not bad, actually. The shag was kind of cute. I guess Klute finally came to Des Allemands in 1975.
Third grade I…simply don’t know what was going on here. Maybe I tried that sleeping-in-braided-hair technique that was supposed to result in lustrous waves, but always looked more like my cousin had attacked me with a Flowbee. But I do remember LOVING that shirt.
Fourth grade To my mom’s credit, she did wrestle valiantly with nature, but her crimes with the curling iron must be answered — in this life or the next.
Fifth grade Perhaps my best school photo, taken before the never-ending adolescent years whalloped me. But still…lank, mousey, bleh.
Sixth grade Adolescence. God, this picture reminds me of that scene in The Two Towers — seconds before the first shot is fired in the battle of Helms Deep, King Theoden mutters, “And so it begins.” But I remain thankful that my acne came in that year, as it detracted from the first of my many, oh-so-many, perms. To wit:
Seventh grade Poodle perm? Check. Carefully flattened crown? Check. Complete lack of self-awareness? Check.
Eighth grade If you can see past the glare of my T-zone, you’ll notice my interpretation of the Farrah in all its glory.
Ninth grade I didn’t date in high school.
Tenth grade Oh, feathering.
Eleventh grade No, seriously! I didn’t date At All.
Twelfth grade Beauty! Drama! Hair no frame could contain!
So there you have it. I had many more hair-don’ts (as my dad would say) in college, but lucky you — no pictures with me. I don’t think my ego could survive more of this memory lane honesty at the moment, anyway.