You're So Vain

And, yes, I think she wrote this song about me. I know, I know...many myths as to who this song is about but I sometimes adopt it as my theme song. In a good way!! Not in a "I am all that and a bag of chips" way.

Today is a sunny and warm day and to make it even more perfect, it's hair salon day!! You already know about my love of all things makeup from my beauty school dropout post. Hair is my next vain thing. I don't know why I have this sickness but I do obsess over my hair. In my ever changing moods and my ever increasing age, the thing I worry most over is my hair. I know, I know...there are HUGE, HUGE, HUGE things to worry over on a much less shallow scale and this entry is not meant to ever mean that I don't have deeper worries for myself, for those I love or for everyone. But, this blog is mine and I am feeling very vain, today. Please, never take my words to mean that I don't realize there are bigger things in the world to worry and care about. I am not tackling the world, though. I am tackling the rambling thoughts in my head and my moods.

Anyway, my hair obsessions started way back in elementary school. My mother and I would have very tearful arguments over my hair. I wanted to wear it long and free like my idol of the time, Marcia Brady. She wanted to slather it in Dippity Do (I KNOW....it was the early 70s and hair product choices were slim..lol) and then tightly wind it all up in pink sponge rollers. Oh, the humiliation the next morning. She would send me off to school with ringlets but the minute I stepped foot on the bus, my trusty brush would come out and I would whip it through my hair until all curl was out and all that was left was frizz. Second grade was known as the Bad Hair Year.

For some reason our hair battles ended after third grade and I wore my hair straight and rather stringy. I thought it was beautiful, then, but looking at old pictures, not so much. All was going perfectly until two haircuts were introduced. The Dorothy Hamill and Farrah's feathered bangs. The Dorothy Hamill was a very unfortunate haircut that never should have been given to someone with thick, wavy hair. In other words, me. I looked like a mushroom. I spent most of that year trying to pull it straight after I washed it and hoped for the best when it dried. That haircut grew out and then it was time for feathered bangs. Again, not a good idea when a person has a natural little arch at the top of their hair. Me, again. And, I have to stop here and ask....were the stylists of the 70s even trained to give good haircuts???? Moving on. The haircuts grew, I was happy and high school was on the horizon.

High school years....good hair years until senior year. See, I am really vain since I gauge good and bad school years on what my hair looked like. And yes, I actually did graduate with good grades and got accepted into college. I must have been absorbing knowledge through all of that Dippity Do and Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific and cans of Aqua Net.

Senior year introduced myself and my friends to...drumroll...Sun In. Who knew what damage lurked behind a bottle of spray on chemcicals that could magically lighten your hair with the aid of a blow dryer? Hmmmm??? Okay, well, yea but we were all in search of Malibu Barbie hair. Our results were all quite a disaster and better left to bad memories.

I think I forgot the bad home perm of my junior year. My mother took charge of my hair. I think it was punishment for wrecking a car and once again I was left with a mess of a hairstyle. Behind her back, I bought a chemical hair straightening solution. I had no idea that I could have set my hair on fire using it. The results were not the straight, silky look. It was once again...frizz.

In college, a bunch of my sorority sisters and I found the joys of paint on highlights. Had we learned nothing through higher education????

Time has marched on and surprisingly I still have a full head of hair. I left out the summers of lemon juice and combing peroxide through our strands. Damn that Malibu Barbie!!!

So, I got older and wiser and put my hair into the hands of a professional a long time ago. Today, I am no longer in pursuit of Malibu Barbie's hair. I have gone darker, more natural and thanks to great hair products, better blow dryers, expensive flat irons and organic coconut oil, I have the hair of my dreams.

In my ever changing moods, I am allowed to be proud of my tresses. They survived the hair wars of the late 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s. This past decade has been a good hair decade. The rest of the world may have gone to a pile of poo but it will be known as my Personal Hair Best!

Yes, I am so vain about my hair...and I bet Carly wrote the song with me in mind...even though she didn't mean it to be about my hair. See....vain.