My mom has gushed over my wavy hair for as long as I can remember. She lamented her thin, pin-straight hair, which her high school self permed up and blow-dried to give it as much texture, volume and pizazz as it could have. I had her father’s genes, the hair of her dreams—modestly thick, fluffy, and full of waves that bounced all over the place.
I was not as thrilled about this “blessing” as she was. Every morning was a fight against my brush to get out all of the knots that appeared overnight, just to deal with wild frizz for the rest of the day. I never learned to style my hair, because after two unfortunate stints of lice in elementary school, I wasn’t allowed to wear my hair down. I threw my hair up in a ponytail nearly every day until ninth grade, complete with an Under Armour headband to tame my lion’s mane of baby hairs.
I thought I had it all under control until high school, when flat-ironed hair became the go-to uniform. I strayed away from heat unless I was getting ready for a school dance, under the notion of “protecting my hair,” but mostly out of laziness. I convinced myself that since my hair wasn’t the coily springs or the thick, loose curls that a few of my friends had, it must classify as straight–so why would I need to do more work and straighten it? My solution was to constantly brush it down, sometimes flattening it with water, both of which, needless to say, only made it puffier and wilder.
By the start of college, I was fed up. My hair wasn’t curly, but it wasn’t straight. Frankly, it was just messy. The high pony returned as my hairstyle of choice, because I didn’t have the time, energy or motivation to try to fix it after an early morning cross-country practice. I begged my hair stylist at my semi-annual trim for solutions, but I shut down any idea that required any more than the minimal time or money that I was already giving it. As dramatic as it may sound, my hair felt destined to be a mess.
Then, on one family lake house vacation, my mom complimented my “beach waves” that appeared after a morning swim. Looking in the dim reflection of the glass back door, I noticed that the gentle chaos of my sun-dried hair wasn’t the long, straight hair of the girls I was jealous of at school–the ones without an ounce of frizz or a single hair astray. Still, I kind of loved it. It was just wild enough that it looked almost intentional, like the messy buns of 2016 that took at least five tries to get. Better yet, my waves returned to their puffy frizz when I brushed my hair, so I could actually decrease the amount of effort I put into my hair and just let it be–score! After years of showering right before bed or brushing out my hair as it dried, I had convinced myself that I had straight hair, just not the pretty kind. Now, I realized that maybe I did have some waves–and they looked pretty darn good, too.
I’d be lying if I claimed that this discovery led to the conquering of all my hair woes. I still find myself wrangling knots on a regular basis, relying too heavily on ponytails, and trying every possible solution to tame those little baby hairs. Now, though, I know what my hair can–and cannot–do on its own. A quick mist of Garnier’s Curl Shape keeps my natural waves from falling into frizz, and I’ve been able to try so many new hairstyles that don’t include a knot pulling each strand guitar-string tight. I’m more likely to pass on the styles that high school me would’ve died for and replace them with something more funky, fresh, and fun. I’m not sure exactly why it took me 21 years to figure out that my hair just isn’t curly but isn’t straight (ok, it was definitely denial and an overreliance on my brush), but I’m excited to keep learning how to work with my hair, not against it.