So there I was, looking through the various boxes that are stacked in my rented home office, and then pulling out the various boxes under my bed (I've become a storage wizz), looking for things to write about -- don't get me wrong, I'm not bored, and I have PLENTY to be getting on with, but these little chonks are fun to do -- and the hardest bit is deciding which gorgeous small collect to choose, as I have SO MANY -- (am I allowed to do all these asides in one sentence? I only ever do this in blogs and it's really fun) and I rediscovered a box. I thought: I know this green box contains something nice, but I can't remember what. (Remember, memory and me are un-mixy things.)
These are all, with one exception, from before my 40th birthday, when I gave up hair dye. Oh, and there's two that are someone else's hair. And they are perfect little time capsules.
The ones in bags down in the bottom left are my son's hair. The smallest bag is his baby hair, and the next one is... well, I disremember, as my mother says. I think he was a pre-teen at that point.
These bring back memories. Closest to us is a swatch from my early 20s, when I loved using henna: the warm, smelly, muddy mix coating my long hair, wrapped with clingwrap and left for hours while I read books in the sun for my English Lit courses. I wore lots of purple, and a kind of overall/onesie pattern that was quite loose and flowy, always in patterns.
The next one along is a darker burgundy red that I switched to later. Look how thick that ponytail is! I can only dream of having that much young, strong, glossy hair now. I'm very tempted to cut a chunk off to make a paintbrush.
Then I went to black dye, but not before I dyed my hair bright magenta for my cousin's wedding because she made us wear long floaty magenta dresses. I wish I'd kept a swatch of that. But I didn't.
At some point my friends and I were playing with hair and they did blonde tips for my black hair. It was fun, but I got sick of having roots showing regularly with such a dark colour. Around that time, my boss/mentor Dianne Fogwell mentioned that she liked giving things up every year. I loved that idea, and I've taken it deep into my psyche. I give up whatever niggles at me, whatever distracts me when I try to concentrate. I gave up earrings. I gave up makeup. I gave up jewellery. I gave up hair dye. A few years ago I gave up skirts. There's a common thread there: they are things that make me feel feminine. I don't miss them in the slightest. Now I need to give up social media and I'll really be able to concentrate. Bwahahahahaaaaa.
What resolved me to give up hair dye was watching my mother's hair change as she got older. It just started greying in a very subtle, integrated way to give an effect that some women pay a lot of money to get.
Like this. This was when I cut my hair from a long bob up to a pixie crop the first time. My partner at the time wouldn't meet my eyes with my short hair. He literally didn't look at me for weeks. That's when I realised that I had his image of me to live up to. So I grew it down again, and hated myself for giving in. Now, five years out (five years!), I wear my hair how I like it (spoiler alert: SHORT), and the amount of grey is following in my mother's lead. Only 21 years ahead of me, she's now a graceful grey-white, and I like the look of it.
Now, let's look at the thing. Yes, that thing.
I can't remember when I got this hair wrap, or how long I had it for. I suspect I got it at the National Folk Festival or some such place, in the earlyish 1990s when I had the long red hair. What a souvenir of the times! Hippy hippy shake. I'm tempted to pin it on for the next Monthly Dinner zoom with my friends, except it's not really dramatic enough to be seen onscreen. Better to get out the long bright red wig I found a few years ago that sorta makes me look 20 again... if we all squint.
I love the idea of this box surviving a few generations... if there are more generations in my family. That's completely out of my hands, apart from the constant battle to make sure that anyone in the world has a chance to have future generations...
BEARD WATCH: Oh my goodness, I have a pretty sweet but sparse goatee at the moment, with a mix of thick and thin, black and stark white hairs. The length of it all is uniformly between 5-10mm. It grows in a clump on either side of my chin, with long thin soft hairs on my throat, and one jaunty bright white curled hair under my chin. I stroke it all thoughtfully as I work. To be honest, I hate it. I don't like the feel of it. It distracts me -- and writing this post makes me realise that this is the ultimate sin. So I'm going to do my best to capture it in a photo, then it's coming off. Hold that thought.
I know you've guessed what's in there because of my spoiler post title, but what treasures!
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
*clasps hands*
The ones in bags down in the bottom left are my son's hair. The smallest bag is his baby hair, and the next one is... well, I disremember, as my mother says. I think he was a pre-teen at that point.
These bring back memories. Closest to us is a swatch from my early 20s, when I loved using henna: the warm, smelly, muddy mix coating my long hair, wrapped with clingwrap and left for hours while I read books in the sun for my English Lit courses. I wore lots of purple, and a kind of overall/onesie pattern that was quite loose and flowy, always in patterns.
The next one along is a darker burgundy red that I switched to later. Look how thick that ponytail is! I can only dream of having that much young, strong, glossy hair now. I'm very tempted to cut a chunk off to make a paintbrush.
Then I went to black dye, but not before I dyed my hair bright magenta for my cousin's wedding because she made us wear long floaty magenta dresses. I wish I'd kept a swatch of that. But I didn't.
At some point my friends and I were playing with hair and they did blonde tips for my black hair. It was fun, but I got sick of having roots showing regularly with such a dark colour. Around that time, my boss/mentor Dianne Fogwell mentioned that she liked giving things up every year. I loved that idea, and I've taken it deep into my psyche. I give up whatever niggles at me, whatever distracts me when I try to concentrate. I gave up earrings. I gave up makeup. I gave up jewellery. I gave up hair dye. A few years ago I gave up skirts. There's a common thread there: they are things that make me feel feminine. I don't miss them in the slightest. Now I need to give up social media and I'll really be able to concentrate. Bwahahahahaaaaa.
What resolved me to give up hair dye was watching my mother's hair change as she got older. It just started greying in a very subtle, integrated way to give an effect that some women pay a lot of money to get.
Like this. This was when I cut my hair from a long bob up to a pixie crop the first time. My partner at the time wouldn't meet my eyes with my short hair. He literally didn't look at me for weeks. That's when I realised that I had his image of me to live up to. So I grew it down again, and hated myself for giving in. Now, five years out (five years!), I wear my hair how I like it (spoiler alert: SHORT), and the amount of grey is following in my mother's lead. Only 21 years ahead of me, she's now a graceful grey-white, and I like the look of it.
Now, let's look at the thing. Yes, that thing.
I can't remember when I got this hair wrap, or how long I had it for. I suspect I got it at the National Folk Festival or some such place, in the earlyish 1990s when I had the long red hair. What a souvenir of the times! Hippy hippy shake. I'm tempted to pin it on for the next Monthly Dinner zoom with my friends, except it's not really dramatic enough to be seen onscreen. Better to get out the long bright red wig I found a few years ago that sorta makes me look 20 again... if we all squint.
I love the idea of this box surviving a few generations... if there are more generations in my family. That's completely out of my hands, apart from the constant battle to make sure that anyone in the world has a chance to have future generations...
BEARD WATCH: Oh my goodness, I have a pretty sweet but sparse goatee at the moment, with a mix of thick and thin, black and stark white hairs. The length of it all is uniformly between 5-10mm. It grows in a clump on either side of my chin, with long thin soft hairs on my throat, and one jaunty bright white curled hair under my chin. I stroke it all thoughtfully as I work. To be honest, I hate it. I don't like the feel of it. It distracts me -- and writing this post makes me realise that this is the ultimate sin. So I'm going to do my best to capture it in a photo, then it's coming off. Hold that thought.
Smiling.
ReplyDeleteI remember henna.
My hair is going grey gracefully - which is the only part of me which can claim that title. Not long ago I had a 'discussion' with a stranger in a supermarket who was totally indignant that I wouldn't tell her who coloured my hair.
I reclaimed dresses this summer for the comfort of cool breezes.
Ha, yes, Mum gets that with her gorgeous hair.
ReplyDeleteToday...I shall attempt a haircut. By that, I mean more than the bits I regularly snip off the fringe.I may be gone some time...
ReplyDelete