During the dog days of August, which I think it’s safe to say we’re in, your mind is probably on only one thing. Not your upcoming vacation nor what time the pool opens, but this: What holy horror will today’s heat and humidity bring to my hair?
I have naturally curly hair. The curls have loosened some as I’ve aged, and when I’m really stressed, my tresses will sometimes come in as limp waves, but regardless, summer is a challenge. The quest for an anti-frizz hair product starts every spring—right around Memorial Day, like clockwork, my hair goes from “alluring waves” to “Napoleon Dynamite with a side of Einstein” overnight. Thus, the search begins.
I used to buy Paul Mitchell’s Twirl Around Curl Definer. This usually did the job when it came to taming my frizzle, but about a year ago, my fancy hair salon (Cutting Crew at the mall, if you must know) stopped carrying it. “Try this instead,” the hairdresser on duty said, handing me a tube of Paul Mitchell’s Ultimate Wave. “It’s the same thing, just repackaged.”
The hairdresser on duty, I suspect, works on tips and commissions. She is also a dirty liar.
Ultimate Wave was no doubt named for the look it gives your hair: specifically, how it hangs in tangles after you’ve just been practically drowned by a rogue wave with a fierce undertow. My hair hung in limp clumps, and yes, smelled vaguely of seaweed. Most frustratingly: around each dirty tuft was a fuzzy halo of frizz.
I fled to the internet, where a quick Google search revealed that Paul Mitchell did still make Twirl Around, but had jacked the price up to $23.00 a bottle. Yes, my hair is fuzzy, but it is attached to a scalp that does not pay $4.60 an ounce for any hair product unless it’s also going to fold my laundry and vacuum my rugs. I needed a new option, and fast: I’d gone from Napoleon Dynamite to Roseanne Roseannadanna as soon as June hit.
A quick search of the health and beauty aids section of my local Walmart turned up Aussie’s Miracle Curls Frizz Free Curl Cream. It sounded promising, and was only eighty-three cents an ounce. I said a quick prayer and threw it in my shopping cart.
It turns out that perhaps Walmart is not the best place to go shopping for salon-quality hair tamer. I shampooed, conditioned, and glopped on the Miracle. My hair dried. I smelled terrific—Aussie has the best-smelling crap on the market, a mix of coconut and papaya that once made me dare to take a lick (note: never, ever, attempt to eat Aussie hair products) but I looked like a cat whose fur has been used to build up static electricity on a balloon.
I was ready to give up. It looked like another summer of ponytails and hats.
Around this time, my cousin Lori and I took a class together to learn how to make Vietnamese spring rolls. Lori also has naturally curly hair, and her hair never looks like a bedroom slipper. “What do you use?” I asked, as she rubbed balloons on my head to build up static electricity.
As it so happens, Lori was happy to share her secret: L’Oréal Sleek It, which I never would’ve thought of as it doesn’t specifically say Hey Chewbacca, slap some of this on your noggin on it. Lori also happened to have a spare bottle, which she promptly gave me, like she was just waiting for me to ask for help. I couldn’t wait to get home and try it out.
I invited my sister over to watch the miracle in process. She didn't want to, but I whined until she did. As my hair dried, Sleek It on every strand, even she would've had to admit this was good stuff if she'd bothered to watch it dry with me. My curls looked bouncy and soft and—here’s the real miracle, Aussie, take note--not frizzy.
I stared at the mirror. “Unbelievable!” But my delight soon turned to horror as the tips started bushing out, one by one.
“What? No!” I wailed, pointing at my mutinous hair in the mirror. “How can this be? Why does Lori’s hair look terrific and I look like a feather duster?”
My sister glanced up from her magazine. “Maybe because Lori actually trims her split ends?”
So there you have it: the cure for summertime frizz. A bottle of L’Oréal Sleek It and a scarily sensible sister with a pair of salon scissors should do the trick just fine.
I have naturally curly hair. The curls have loosened some as I’ve aged, and when I’m really stressed, my tresses will sometimes come in as limp waves, but regardless, summer is a challenge. The quest for an anti-frizz hair product starts every spring—right around Memorial Day, like clockwork, my hair goes from “alluring waves” to “Napoleon Dynamite with a side of Einstein” overnight. Thus, the search begins.
I used to buy Paul Mitchell’s Twirl Around Curl Definer. This usually did the job when it came to taming my frizzle, but about a year ago, my fancy hair salon (Cutting Crew at the mall, if you must know) stopped carrying it. “Try this instead,” the hairdresser on duty said, handing me a tube of Paul Mitchell’s Ultimate Wave. “It’s the same thing, just repackaged.”
The hairdresser on duty, I suspect, works on tips and commissions. She is also a dirty liar.
Ultimate Wave was no doubt named for the look it gives your hair: specifically, how it hangs in tangles after you’ve just been practically drowned by a rogue wave with a fierce undertow. My hair hung in limp clumps, and yes, smelled vaguely of seaweed. Most frustratingly: around each dirty tuft was a fuzzy halo of frizz.
I fled to the internet, where a quick Google search revealed that Paul Mitchell did still make Twirl Around, but had jacked the price up to $23.00 a bottle. Yes, my hair is fuzzy, but it is attached to a scalp that does not pay $4.60 an ounce for any hair product unless it’s also going to fold my laundry and vacuum my rugs. I needed a new option, and fast: I’d gone from Napoleon Dynamite to Roseanne Roseannadanna as soon as June hit.
A quick search of the health and beauty aids section of my local Walmart turned up Aussie’s Miracle Curls Frizz Free Curl Cream. It sounded promising, and was only eighty-three cents an ounce. I said a quick prayer and threw it in my shopping cart.
It turns out that perhaps Walmart is not the best place to go shopping for salon-quality hair tamer. I shampooed, conditioned, and glopped on the Miracle. My hair dried. I smelled terrific—Aussie has the best-smelling crap on the market, a mix of coconut and papaya that once made me dare to take a lick (note: never, ever, attempt to eat Aussie hair products) but I looked like a cat whose fur has been used to build up static electricity on a balloon.
I was ready to give up. It looked like another summer of ponytails and hats.
Around this time, my cousin Lori and I took a class together to learn how to make Vietnamese spring rolls. Lori also has naturally curly hair, and her hair never looks like a bedroom slipper. “What do you use?” I asked, as she rubbed balloons on my head to build up static electricity.
As it so happens, Lori was happy to share her secret: L’Oréal Sleek It, which I never would’ve thought of as it doesn’t specifically say Hey Chewbacca, slap some of this on your noggin on it. Lori also happened to have a spare bottle, which she promptly gave me, like she was just waiting for me to ask for help. I couldn’t wait to get home and try it out.
I invited my sister over to watch the miracle in process. She didn't want to, but I whined until she did. As my hair dried, Sleek It on every strand, even she would've had to admit this was good stuff if she'd bothered to watch it dry with me. My curls looked bouncy and soft and—here’s the real miracle, Aussie, take note--not frizzy.
I stared at the mirror. “Unbelievable!” But my delight soon turned to horror as the tips started bushing out, one by one.
“What? No!” I wailed, pointing at my mutinous hair in the mirror. “How can this be? Why does Lori’s hair look terrific and I look like a feather duster?”
My sister glanced up from her magazine. “Maybe because Lori actually trims her split ends?”
So there you have it: the cure for summertime frizz. A bottle of L’Oréal Sleek It and a scarily sensible sister with a pair of salon scissors should do the trick just fine.
Memorial Day 2019.
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