THE HOME HAIR STYLIST

Boy, do I need a haircut! I was needing a haircut when the salons were ordered closed. At least my hair is graying naturally. My roots are “salt and pepper” just like the rest of my hair.

Mother and Me -- She did our hair.

As I was growing up in the ‘50s and ‘60s, my mother did my hair. She trimmed it, put it in braids or a ponytail, made ringlets, and later, rolled and permed it. My dad visited the barber regularly, but Mother did my hair, her own, and assisted my adult sisters with cuts and perms. The first time I visited a salon, I was in 8^th grade, and it seldom happened again until I was on my own in the big city. Then it happened regularly.

What about special occasions, you ask? What about them? Weddings, proms, photo shoots – we didn’t even think of having our hair done by a professional. In fact, I knew of only one salon in our little town. I think it was called “Bon Eve.” The sign on the door showed a woman with a wavy ‘30’s style. Old ladies wearing yesterday’s styles went there. My Aunt Ethel had her hair done there. Need I say more?

Aunt Lynn, Aunt Shirley, and Aunt Ethel

Now, this is history as I remember it, but I believe salons catering to older women were still the norm into the ‘60s. Older women tended to land on a style from a bygone era and keep wearing it, which dated them – like my elderly aunts. But then, what can I say? I’ve worn mine in a wedge for 40 years and wouldn’t think of changing it. So – there you have it.

My mother had no training in hair styling, and as a young person, I didn’t appreciate her natural skill. She loved to work with textiles, and I expect that working with hair was just an extension of that talent. Whatever natural skill Mother had with hair I didn’t inherit it.

And – Mother complained about my hair from the beginning. “I braid it and it looks all nice and neat and the next thing I know it’s crawling out of the braids. It will not stay where I put it!” And, she pointed out, I had all these cowlicks – one on top of my head, like Alfalfa, and a string of them at the nape of my neck. (I still have them.)

Mother was still complaining about my hair when I was an adult. I loved the freedom of the new short cuts that required no fuss at all – just wash and go – but when my hair was newly styled, Mother would point out the flaws. “Your stylist does not understand your hair. She must leave it long on top and at the nape of your neck or it will stick straight up. You have to tell her that.” Honestly, nothing mattered less to me. After all, everything would be fine in a week, and I was not going to fool with my hair!

I was so happy when the “wedge” came along. We can thank Dorothy Hamill for that. It may be out of date, but it works for my fine hair and holds the cowlicks in place. I simply wash it, brush it into place, and consider myself good to go – as long as it’s shaped, that is, and right now it isn’t. A shape-up every month or so puts it back to rights. It’s long now and getting longer, but I can wait. (I politely declined Mike’s offer to help.) KW