“You Have A Lot Of Hair”

When my mom was expecting me, she prayed that if she had a daughter, please would that daughter have long, thick hair. This is not a secret; she continues to tell people (anyone who will listen, including the cashier at Walgreens) to this day. God and nature delivered on that prayer but it took a little time.

By all (photographic) accounts, I was born with sparse, very, very dark hair. Think of it: a girl baby with male pattern baldness. All that was lacking was an actual combover. My mom has never said anything about her initial reaction to that but I can imagine she was…bummed. There are quite a few pictures of my infant self in actual bonnets and I suspect they were less of a fashion choice and more to disguise my lack of hair. Sometimes I wonder if mom expected me to arrive with actual pigtails. And bows.

Around the 6 month mark, the sparse black hair fell out and my parents were left with a bald baby. If baby bow headbands had been a thing, I’m confident I would have been in several at a time, even while in my crib. It’s entirely probable my mom taped a sign on me that read, “she’s a girl”.

Around age 1ish, God was like, “Oh. Right. Her hair”. It came in quickly and thickly. And there was much rejoicing. By age four, I had more hair (on my head) than a Shetland pony and every morning my mom would fix my hair, which involved her brushing my hair and pulling it back into all manner of braids, And trust me, when I say pulled back, it was pulled waaaaay back. I looked like a 4 year old who had recently had Botox injections and had a faintly surprised look on my face all the time because my eyebrows were frozen in place and couldn’t furrow my brow. I’m reasonably confident I’m the only child who remembers having her hair in hot rollers at age 4. I’m not lying; there are multiple pictures of me in rollers. Inevitably one roller would touch the back of my ear. I would yelp and mom would tuck a piece of toilet paper between my ear and the roller which was both relieving and disturbing.

One morning Mom was brushing my hair and it was very tangly because she had put Dippity – Do (don’t ask) in it the day before. We were both cranky that morning and she smacked the hairbrush on the counter. It broke in half and part of it ricocheted off the counter against the wall. It was an exciting start to our day.

My hair is sneaky. It looks like a regular amount of hair because the texture is what is called “fine” but what lies underneath is quite a bit to deal with and also why I tip generously. Whenever I cheat on my regular stylist (something I do a lot; I’m not proud of it), I always tell them my hair is thick and long and will need extra time. I give fair warning and full disclosure. They dismiss me entirely of course but once they get me in the shampoo bowl, I can see it in their face. They realize what they’ve signed up for and the phrase is always the exact same, “wow, you have a lot of hair.” And they don’t mean it as a compliment. It’s almost accusatory as they attempt to thoroughly wet my hair with the inferior nozzle. Minutes pass, I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable wetting of the back of my shirt as they desperately try to soak all the hair.

Then the shampooing. One, two, three pumps; never enough, the canopy is barely sudsy. Then they get aggressive and scrub and dig in. Fortunately, I am (as a result of being heavily styled in my early years), not at all tender headed.
Shampoo one is complete and the water drains before shampoo two commences and then the conditioner. I have never NOT had a stylist say multiple times during the whole process, “you have a lot of hair, wow, so much hair.” I always wonder what they say to people who have sparse hair. Do they say, “wow, you don’t have much hair, it’s so great you don’t have a lot of hair?” All I know that if it is a busy day at the salon, 5 or 6 customers can be washed and off to the chair while I am still in the basin with a neck ache.

Then they give me that horrible hand towel sized rag and try to wrap me up in it. I politely ask for a few more because I feel like I’ve been in a rainstorm and water is freaking all over me. I never plan anything after a haircut; I always walk out with my shirt damp in very patchy areas. It’s not attractive and definitely not a time to wear a white tee shirt or anything that could become remotely transparent. A black tee shirt is always the best bet, always.

Frequently stylists will suggest thinning my hair out with thinning shears. I tried it once and it was terrible: I looked like a very hairy chia pet who was sprouting hair randomly.