Monday Morning Musings

Posted on June 1, 2020 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

Perm, highlights or shadow wave?


“She asks me why, I’m just a hairy guy

I’m hairy noon and night, hair that’s a fright

I’m hairy high and low, don’t ask me why, don’t know”

Hair. The Cowsills



It’s the big reveal. We’re about to come out of our Covid caves and face the world in all of our human imperfections. We’ve all added a bit of heft as the path to our refrigerators has been worn down to the floorboards. We may have added a few wrinkles to our brows worrying about the fate of the planet, our families and our jobs. Our speech may be a bit halted as we haven’t had much practice talking in recent months. But nowhere, has the pandemic bared its teeth most obviously than the tops of our head. We can hide a few extra pounds with loose fitting clothing, and cover our faces with masks, but unless we wear a shawl or a Stetson, our hair will be on full display.

Hair used to matter a lot to me, especially during my university days when I carried a rather large bush on the top of my head. Long hair was prevalent, a sign of penury and protest. Why waste money on a haircut when you could buy a bottle of Ruby Rouge or Golden Glow. I can see you nodding your heads at the recognition of these two fine specimens of the nectar of the gods. And lest we forget, there was the forgettable Hermit’s wine, that exquisite plonk with a delicate bouquet. Hermit’s “red” (the color of blood) was a fighting wine while the “white” was a dancing wine. I digress.

“Does she, or doesn’t she? Only her hairdresser knows for sure.” This was a famous ad created by Clairol back in the 1950s. This week, more than one’s hairdresser might discover the true color of people’s hair. I expect to see a big uptick in the sale of hoodies in the next few days as people skulk from their homes, possibly in the cover of darkness, to get to their hair salons. A hair-raising experience to be sure.

No amount of hair dye will stop the aging process. Just sayin.

Of course, we could opt to let our hair keep growing. We could rage against aging. We could infuse our hair with patchouli oil, wear a headband and trot out our torn blue jeans, and tie-dyed t-shirts. We could “let it all hang out”. Groovy. Far out.

When my sparse hair started going sideways in March, I made the painful decision to just shave it off. Of course, being quarantined made this exercise somewhat easier as the only person I had to face for a few weeks was myself. So now, instead of rushing out to the Campus Clipper this week (sorry, NJ)  for my pandemic coif, I will head to the drugstore to get more razor blades and shaving cream.

Highlights or a perm? Here’s one person who won’t ever have to make this agonizing choice again. I won’t ever have to blow dry my afro with an industrial sized vacuum cleaner again. I won’t have to purchase hair shampoo. I will be gifting my hairbrushes, combs, and afro picks. These will not be a part of my will. My children will remain heirless.

Hair today… gone tomorrow.

Have a great weekend.



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