Complimentary

One of my co-workers has this crazy theory (which for the record couldn't be more absurd): my curly hair days are days when I'm 'scary' and people shouldn't mess with me and that the days that I straighten my hair people can get away with pretty much anything because I will be 'nice'. I have already disproven his theory, most recently on Thursday when he kept stalling when we were picking up some items for our office lunch. It was a curly hair day, and he is still alive. The theory is bunk.

But I must say sometimes my niceness is tempted.

On Friday, I stopped by Costco after work to pick up some things and in the shampoo/lotion/razor aisle, I saw a woman inspecting a giant container of shampoo. I couldn't help myself and said, "I use that--it's actually pretty good.", at which point I realized she's staring at my head, with her mouth wide open. It seems seeing my hair in its naturally curly glory couldn't scare a woman more. She slowly put the shampoo down and started backing away from me.

Sadly, I think I will never be a good hair model.

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The Science of Hair

I love French Scientists--I married one of them--because they ask interesting questions. Questions about the connection between dementia and HIV; stroke and Alzheimer's disease; and the ever important tangle in hair.

It seems some very important scientists at the Ecole Polytechnique have scientifically proven the superiority of curly hair. Based on complex physics formulas that are too difficult for the average person to understand, straight hair tangles more than curly hair--causing pain and anguish to straight haired people everywhere. Thank goodness that mystery has been solved. And before you dismiss the Ecole Polytechnique as some obscure institution, it is a very reputable university that asks the hard questions.

So on the mornings I spend hours pulling my hair straight, layering anti-frizz stuff onto it before ironing it to obedience--and then it all curls up again; I can take heart in the fact that science has proven my hair to be less tangle prone than that of my straight hair sisters.

Hair Tip of the Day

Beer is a beverage, not a styling agent.

If you live in a country barely recovering from war and sanctions, it may make sense to find natural alternatives to beauty products. For example, fresh cucumber skins left over from your salad actually make a pretty decent facial mask. However, looking for non-alcoholic beer which is in short supply (because people are trying to make alcoholic beer with it) to use as hair spray is not the greatest idea. First of all, it doesn't work that well. Second of all, it smells funny. Third, it is easier finding overpriced, imported hairspray. And finally, if your mother manages to somehow style your hair with it, DO NOT think you can ever replicate the results.

Now while it may seem silly to use non-alcoholic beer as a hairspray and/or gel substitute in a bind; it is insane to do so on a regular Saturday, when you're sitting in your dorm room, wondering how you can make your hair look good for the party later in the evening. Why is it insane? First, you live in a dorm, where alcohol is prohibited. Not that that has stopped anyone else from bringing it in, but the rule does exist none the less. Then there is the problem of obtaining beer when you're under 21 and don't have a car. It is amazing how many people will stare at you in disbelief when you swear you don't want to drink beer, but spray it in your hair. Go ahead, try and convince people that not only do you not consume alcohol, but that you are trying to recreate a hairstyle from a few years back. I promise the damage to your reputation will take years to repair. Of course, once you find a person willing to share their beer with you, it will come at a price--they will want to actually watch you in your full, mad glory. Which is fair, just awkward and time consuming. Very, very time consuming. The good news is, when you eventually make it out the door with your beer-styled hair and new dress, half the dorm will cheer you on and make you promise to tell them how the night goes. You have an audience waiting for you!

Once you leave the dorm with your 'unique' hairstyle, you may realize that people are looking at you with confusion. After all, how many times to do you expect to encounter a cleanly dressed young woman on a college campus, smelling of beer and perfume walking along sober as daylight? Those looks are not of admiration for your sense of style. People will continue to notice you: at the party, at the BBQ line and finally when you sit down to eat. Just be prepared to answer the question, "Do you smell beer?", every five minutes or so. Brace yourself for the hysterical laughter that follows your answer, and do not feel obligated to help anyone back in their chair if they fall over. Their mothers should have taught them some manners.

(Sidebar: Gentlemen, I must say that for all your claims of loving beer, you're very picky. Apparently, you have something against people who smell like beer, even if you try to drown yourselves in the damn stuff. I mean, I've never been fond of the smell of beer, which is why I hear it is a good idea to mask the smell with a nice, feminine perfume.)

In conclusion, beer is better as a beverage than a styling product. It is not worth the trouble, especially if there is enough hairspray in your building to burn a hole in the ozone.

Hair Tip of the Day

Irons are for clothing, linens and drapes, not for hair.

Resist the urge to listen to your roommate's slightly inebriated cousin who has just returned from Nogales, no matter how much she insists she knows how to style hair. When you see her plug in an iron that is older than your roommate, politely grab your id and find refuge in another dorm room until the effects of alcohol have worn off. Laying your head down close to the ironing board and asking her to be careful will not protect your scalp from the searing, hot metal. Especially if she doesn't have a good grasp of English, and you don't speak a lick of Spanish. If you have not left the room at this point, frankly nothing will save your scalp.

Now it may be tempting to think back to your childhood/adolescence when your aunt regaled you with stories of her tresses. Block those memories, and keep reminding yourself that a) your aunt dabbled in illegal substances on occasion b) she had some professional training and natural skills in these matters and c) her hair fell all the way down her back--EVEN WHEN IT WAS IN FULL CURL MODE! This is an important detail. There is a lot more room for error when your hair is that long. If you singe a few inches, your scalp will not be blistered and you still have long hair. Your bob does not have that flexibility.

Also remember, your scalp is your friend. Any damage to it can distract you--or send you to student health for medical treatment. Should this happen, you will be instructed not to 'treat or style' your hair until the blisters have gone away. This will guarantee you many more bad hair days. The blisters on your ear will garner stupid jokes such as, "Your ears must be burning!" from every idiot on campus and thwart your attempts at dignity for at least two semesters.

If you must wave hot metal close to your head, choose the kind of iron that is designed for hair styling, known as a "Curling Iron" or "Flattening Iron" as appropriate. These gizmos are fairly inexpensive and easy to find at your local drugstore or beauty supply shop.

In conclusion, irons, alcohol and hair don't mix. ESPECIALLY the iron.

Hair Tip of the Day

If you're spending the greater part of the weekend desperately trying to manage your hair and make a good impression on a Monday morning interview, DO NOT take beauty tips from Julia Roberts' crazy antics in Dying Young, even if every overly sentimental girl in your dorm insists you watch it and learn.

Apparently, slathering your hair with the contents of a jar of mayonnaise will not make your hair shiny and healthy, allowing it to capture the attention and awe of young men everywhere. Nor will it wash out and leave you where you were before you opened the jar of mayonnaise. Instead, it will leave your hair dull, heavy and greasy, even after numerous washes with scalding hot water. When young men and potential employers do notice your hair, you will not inspire comparisons to Klimt's work, but they may politely ask if you lost a bet. Later, you will hear the phrase "We just didn't think you'd be a good fit" from the employer with no potential.

At this point, I recommend you quietly return to your dorm and try to wash out the grease stains on you shirt, pillowcase and towel. Or, save yourself some change and just throw them all out--that much oil doesn't wash out.

Repeating experiment with Miracle Whip will give you same, tragic results. Accept the fact that your hair will never look like Julia Roberts' hair and move on.

About the Hair

I guess I should explain about the name of this blog.

My hair has been the issue of great controversy since before I was born. When my very young mother found out she was pregnant, she prayed for a little girl. Implicit in that prayer, was the desire to 'decorate and play with my hair', but she didn't specify that and as a result, God gave her a little girl unlike any other Iranian girl she had ever seen before: practically bald with a layer of soft, blond hair.

If you have ever seen a child born to two Iranians, you will realize that it was an almost spiteful answer to her prayers. For months (partially due to postpartum depression, I hope, not just despair over my appearance), she cried and tried in vain to pull my non-existant strands into various ribbons and bows. This continued for a couple of years, during which time she discovered furry hats, little scarves and other such ornaments to make up for my semi-baldness. By the time I was three, she was desparate enough to try anything, including trusting me to my adolecent uncle. He, being and adolecent and a prankster of sorts at the time, took me to the barber shop where he was having his head shaved for the new school year. After demonstrating how painless the process was, he plopped me the barber's chair and instructed the man to shave my head. I was apparently fine with this--until we got home.

As we walked in, I saw my grandfather sitting in front of his mirror, carefully combing his thick, white mane. I touched my shaved head and teared up. Then I wailed uncontrollably, declaring "I wanted HAIR!" I wanted to comb my hair the way my Baba did. Thankfully, someone thought of getting me ice cream. But the damage was done: for the rest of my life I would be self-conscience about my hair.

My hair eventually grew out to reveal my true heritage. My mom took control and became my personal stylist no matter how bad life got and I never touched my hair until I was 18 years old. During those years she, cut, braided, straightened, curled, styled and otherwise worked on my hair. Most of the time, she would spend hours straightening it and making sure every strand was in place.

Then, in 1991 I moved away from home, away from my mother for the first time. I returned to the US with my father, landing in Chicago on our way to see our friends and family. The first time I washed my hair, I realized something terrible. My hair was undeniably curly, and not as a result of anything that I had done. I had no way of making myself presentable, as I had never combed my own hair; I didn't even know that the humidity was amplifying my problem. That morning, I felt I was not who I had thought myself to be all those years.

On that November morning, my personal battle began. There is nothing like a vain person losing a daily struggle with their appearance.

Years of bad hair days, assorted hair cuts, stylists and hair products later, I heard of a collection of short stories by David Foster Wallace called Girl with Curious Hair. I never read the short stories, but loved the title so much I was sure it was about a girl who suddenly found herself sitting on the edge of a bathtub in Chicago, wondering why the hell she looks like Medusa.

Sweet Nothings

M and I exchange our own peculiar endearments that may seem odd to most. This stems from his wacky sense of humor and strange concept of sweet talk. While some may not seem so odd if said in the Western cultural context, they are occasionally touchy in our own cultural background. Yet, I know him well enough to appreciate some of his comments as well intended, if slightly confused attempts at sweetness. A recent example: he pointed to the new baby orangutan at the Phoenix Zoo last year and said, "She looks just like you!" I love baby orangutans and all, but their look isn't one I aspire to. Yet, there was a certain cuteness in the way he said it that didn't appall me--even if being called a monkey is a huge insult in our culture (is it not in any culture?). Of course, I like to think I look nothing like this:





What he said yesterday though, still bugs me. He was walking into the other room, stopped, looked at me with an attempt at identifying something and walked on.

"What was that", I asked.

"Oh, nothing. You just look like the Queen of England with your hair like that. "

The look of WTH?! made him rephrase, "Oh, not exactly like her. Younger, and your hair isn't as stiff as hers."

I love you too, baby.