Heading off the Straight and Narrow

Usually my kids fight over candy, toys or TV. Today, they were fighting about my hair. “I don’t want Mom’s hair to be curly,” said my four-year-old son. “I want it curly,” replied my seven-year-old daughter. Regardless of their stance on my strands neither has seen my hair curly.

My daughter was a year old when I first got it straightened and my son was, well, not a twinkle in my eye. When I got pregnant with him, I heard that I couldn’t have my curly roots touched up. There’s no scientific evidence that it’s bad for pregnant women, but my straightening guy doesn’t like using chemicals on mommas-in-the-making. To say I was disappointed is an understatement. Not only was my belly (and butt) getting big and bumpy, so was my hair! (Had I known, I would’ve tried to time the conception of my second child to just a few days post-straightening.) Instead, those nine months were tough.

I used to joke that the first person I was going to call after my baby was born was the salon where I get my hair straightened. (Actually it wasn’t a joke. Since my parents were already at the hospital, I called the salon before calling my best friend! But don’t tell.) Two weeks post-partum, I was in my stylist’s chair happily getting my curly roots tamed. There’s a photo of me and my son from just a few days later and it’s one of my favorites. I’m literally glowing — not just because I had a beautiful, healthy baby boy — but also because I had shiny, sleek straight hair after several months of bumps.

But back to my kids’ battle over mom’s curls. My daughter only wanted my hair curly because my husband talks wistfully about my curly days – the poor guy even carries a photo of my waves in his wallet! But it was only recently that I let my daughter know my hair was naturally curly. The first few years of her life, her hair was slow growing so I wasn’t sure if it would be straight or curly. If it was curly, I didn’t want her to feel bad about it - which she would if she knew I was straightening mine. (Incidentally, her locks turned out to be stick straight, thick and shiny - the kind of hair I envied as a kid.)

My son’s rationale for wanting my hair to stay straight was that he thought I was going to drop him off at school with straight hair and pick him up with curly locks. He didn’t realize that the change would be so painfully slow and gradual that he’d barely notice. “I can always go back to straight if we don’t like it,” I reassured him (and admittedly myself.)

Naturally, by school pick-up time, my hair wasn’t any curlier than it was when I dropped him off. Though I admit that when I did my daily check of the back of my hair –using two strategically placed bathroom mirrors- I was pleasantly surprised to see that the curls in the back now hit the nape of my neck. Unfortunately, those in the front reach just up to the top of my ears. According to Devachan curl guru Lorraine Massey, that’s because the exposed front gets much more wear and tear.

Still my hair doesn’t look pretty. It’s a mix of styles and textures like a bowl of various types of pasta. Some strands look like linguine, some like rotini, while others look like elbow macaroni. Despite this, I’m shocked that I’m not even tempted to blow my hair out. I guess I feel like if I’m going to go for the curl, I might was well give those hairs a fighting chance and leave them be without heating, tugging and torturing them. So I stored my blow dryer until cold weather comes and tossed my flat iron (I thought of donating it to someone, but realized doing so was completely uncharitable since no one should be burning her strands).

I also said good-bye to my round brush and tossed every bottle of shampoo in the house — even those belonging to my kids. They don’t have curls, but hearing about the harsh chemicals they contain I’ve decided to make us a poo-free family and, though no one cares but me, I swear everyone’s hair looks healthier. Now if I could only figure a way to get my hair curlier by school pick up, I’d be thrilled.

Along with being a beauty writer, I’m also a health writer. When interviewing experts for weight-loss stories, several have said that it’s a good idea to tell other people when you’re trying to shed a few pounds. Why? First, you’re less likely to pig out when you know others are watching and if you do eat a few Oreos, their raised eyebrows may keep you from devouring the whole box. Second, your friends, co-workers and Aunt Rose won’t push food on you when they know you’re trying to trim down. Lastly, sharing your goal creates a support team – your own band of cheerleaders who help you stick with it (especially at times when you wish you’d kept the whole idea to yourself and could tuck into a pan of brownies). I’ve decided to use this strategy to help me come out of the curly closet and commit to it. Of course, I didn’t just tell close friends and family that I was heading off the straight and narrow; I started telling pretty much anyone who would listen (as you can tell from this blog). Just the other day, I was in the elevator with a curly girl. It was raining so I asked her how her curls were holding up and then proceeded to tell her about growing out my strands. She didn’t seem to care – at all, actually- but I felt better. I think saying it out loud has less to do with the other person and more to do with me, since each time I say, “I’m going back to curly” I’m committing myself even more. (Not to mention that sharing my goal explains why I’m always sporting a ponytail.)

But it was telling two of my closest girlfriends that made me realize how clueless the straight world is about the curly. At a recent lunch date, I was talking about working on Curly Girl 2 with Lorraine. “How can there can be enough information to write a whole book about curls?” one asked. I answered by explaining how Lorraine has studied curls for a decade and that she had loads of secrets to share. I also told them some of the tricks of the curly trade i.e. no brushing (which stunned and confused them!). As I continued to ramble on, they looked at me with blank stares. Soon enough, they looked bored by the subject (quite a contrast to lunch with a curly colleague just the day before: she sat rapt as I told her about my hair and all I’d learned working on the book.) But it was with my friends that it really hit me: straight girls really have no clue, not even a tiny hint, about what we curlies have gone through and go through. I also realized that in my circle of close girlfriends none have curly strands – there’s not even a wave among them! Maybe that’s why my curls had been such a struggle. The amazing friends who I rely on for terrific advice about everything from work to kids to fashion, couldn’t help me in the hair department!

The other strange thing about telling people I’m going curly are their reactions. Everybody - except one friend – thought it was a great idea. All of them said something along the lines of, “I love your curls.” I should have taken this as a compliment, but to me it was the equivalent of someone saying, “You lost weight.” Doesn’t that mean that you were fat before? And with that logic in mind, doesn’t it mean my friends didn’t like my hair straight? I know, I know, it doesn’t matter what people think and I’m trying to stay positive. Instead of thinking that my friends and family members loathed my poker straight locks, I’m thinking of these pals as my own curly strand cheering section. Rah, Rah!

“I miss seeing you.” That was the email I got from the amazing guy who straightens my hair, um, I mean, used to straighten it. I had emailed to tell him about an article I wrote that included him and that’s when he wrote back that he missed me. Little did he know how much I missed him – especially now that I have a halo of frizz sprouting from my head. I told him I hadn’t been to see him because I was “thinking of going back to curly.” (I used the word “thinking” because the commitment of being more definitive scared me.) He responded by telling me about a new chemical treatment that just banishes frizz but keeps most of the curl. This was the equivalent of telling an alcoholic that they can have just one or two drinks. I was tempted, very tempted, rationalizing to myself that perhaps I could have it all. But deep down I know I have to go cold turkey and just let my natural hair grow back.

I’m trying to follow the advice of Devachan’s Lorraine Massey to “hydrate, hydrate, hydrate” and thanks to loads of conditioner and botanical gel, the frizz is getting better, but it’s still a startling sight. What’s funny is that in over six years of having straight hair, I never gave curly strands a second glance. In fact, I’d see them and feel elated that they weren’t mine. Now, I’m obsessed with them. Totally obsessed. No matter where I am – the subway, Starbucks, my kids’ school- I analyze the curls around me. “I hope my curls look like hers,” I think wistfully. “Yikes! What if mine look like hers?” I fret. “Boy, could that girl use some conditioner,” I tell myself. I also stand in the bathroom analyzing how much my curls have grown from one day to the next. I look at them as c’s that grow one on top of the other so I stand in the bathroom counting how many c’s I’ve got. In my just-below-the-shoulder-length hair, my virgin, curly hair reaches just the top of my ears (about three c’s worth). I also stand in the bathroom with my mirrored medicine cabinet open to just the exact position where I can see the back of my hair through a mirror on the wall. Underneath in the back my curls are sprouting, ready to bust out and I love lifting up the top canopy of my hair and checking it out. What amazes me is how in my loving-straight days those little twists and turns were the bain of my existence. Today, I light up when I notice that they’ve gotten just a millimeter longer.

Still, I’ve relegated my hair to a pony tail and at times hate it’s confused disposition – roots that are curly and ends that are straight. Since I’m working with Lorraine on her upcoming book Curly Girl 2, she and I email dozens of times per day. Most of the time, those emails are about the book, but recently in a weak moment when I wanted to toss my ponytail holders and get my hair straightened I sent Lorraine an email that said, “I hate my hair.” Just like people going through Alcoholics Anonymous have sponsors, I view Lorraine as my curly sponsor. Her emails back encourage me to keep, well, curling. The other thing that really keeps me going is that I live close to one of her Devachan Salons. To go practically anywhere from my apartment, I have to pass it and I’m amazed – and in awe of – every curly head of hair I see walk out the salon doors. Seriously, no matter what shape or size a woman is, her curls look gorgeous, natural and effortless. As a result, my goal is constantly dangled in front of me and I know that if I just stick with it, I’ll get back to my curly roots.

I’m a naturally curly girl. There, I’ve said it! This may not sound major—especially on a site dedicated to curly hair—but it’s a fact I’ve denied for almost six years now. Like many curly girls, I grew up with hair I couldn’t handle, hair that had a mind of its own. It never looked like the shiny, silky hair I saw on TV or in magazines and how it looked was a barometer for my mood. So when I heard about Japanese straightening, I was intrigued. As a beauty writer, I’d done several articles on it before the light bulb went off that I should try it. And so I did. It wasn’t like me to do something so drastic but I didn’t care. I remember sitting in the stylist’s chair on that brisk October day as he ran his fingers through my hair. “Are you sure you’re ready for poker-straight strands?” he asked. “It may be flat at first.” Truth be told, I didn’t care if I looked like Marcia Brady. I couldn’t stand another day of frizz and fuzz, and as the mother of a one-year-old, I had no time or energy to spend on my curls. My straightening results were fabulous! Finally, I had shiny, soft strands that blew in the wind. Sure, they were flat, but they were straight. They didn’t frizz after the sweatiest workout or on the most humid day. I no longer cared if it rained. I thought I discovered Nirvana! I loved my straight hair so much that I didn’t care that my husband said he liked it better curly. (That’s love—of my hair!) Every day was a good hair day and I got lots of compliments. I never thought I’d go back to curly.

Cut to six years later. It’s time to get my hair straightened again, but I just can’t do it and there are a few reasons why. First, I am tired of the flat, straight look. Second, I hate the feeling that the moment I step out of the salon after a straightening, the curly hair time clock is ticking. I constantly feel the back of my hair and get depressed when I feel little bumps of curls sprouting underneath my silky strands. Third, I’ve noticed some gray hairs and know that coloring and straightening is too much for my poor locks to handle. Lastly, I’m working with curl guru Lorraine Massey (co-owner of the Devachan Salons) on her second book, “Curly Girl 2″. As a result, I’ve interviewed almost a hundred women who grew up hating their curls like I did, but who have finally learned to treat them right and actually say they love their hair. Yes, love. Imagine that! Armed with so much more knowledge than I had six years ago, I now know how to make my curls look good. Too bad I don’t have them anymore!

That brings me to the whole point of this blog. I’m going to document this journey of going straight. I know it’s not going to be easy. After all, I will spend the next year—or more!—with two textures of hair on my head. It’s also quite emotional. For example, the other day, I was getting ready for a work event and couldn’t stand how my schizo hair looked. Like a drug addict going through withdrawal, I was scrolling frantically through my Blackberry for the number of the salon where I get it straightened. When I found it, I slipped into the corner of the room and whispered about making an appointment because my husband—who was excited when I announced that I was going back to curly—was in the other room. I’m happy to say that I pushed past the straight-hair craving, canceled the appointment and am still on this journey. I know there will twists and turns (pun intended) along the way, but I am ready!