You have seen the edition. The one with the bright orange cover and Oprah, who has always been obsessed with her own hair, donning a Diana Ross epic fro.
The issue offered every conceivable angle on hair
No follicle was left untangled
I am relieved her staff took the time for such an indepth look at everything you could possibly want to know on the subject.
Apparently a lot more people than I had ever thought possible are really into their hair.
"Just look," my colorist Katie said, last week, pointing her magic wand at the gooey-headed gals filling all the chairs in her Long Grove (IL) Red Cottage Salon.
I'm happy for Katie and her business partners that all of us wearing tarps and hair dye are too cowardly to do it ourselves. Oh the commercials make it look like Sarah Jessica Parker can process herself, but I can't imagine she scrubs the grout after that final color rinse.
I also don't think she has ever feared leaving a salon with "I Love Lucy" locks.
I hail from a family of receding headlines and redheads. I still wince at the nicknames Ginger and Red. The upside, I never felt more at home than during a visit to Ireland.
The downside, redheads are on the endangered species list. While growing up only one in three people had red hair. Recent report out of England warn we red-haired baby boomers are heading for extinction. Sadly, it is up to the Prince Harrys of the world to make us more desirable.
While living in Florida I would perm my locks to keep the humidity hair in check so it would not injure people with the turn of my head. Now I keep it shorter to prevent incidents.
When we moved to Chicagoland my first hairstylist went home sick before finishing my new haircut. Not every stylist wants to mess with my kind of kinky coif. When I latch onto a brave stylist who can send me out the door with a haircut that will tame these tresses, I am loyal to a fault. I will follow that artist from shop to shop. While living in Florida I would cross the state from Cocoa Beach to Tampa Bay to stay with a certain stylist. I have even remained the client of one of my favorites after she accidentally snipped my ear while we were lost in laughs and conversation.
I have had the same loyalty with my colorists. You don't have to be a hairdresser to know for sure that this color is not my natural color. My real hair after having and nurturing two children is the color and texture of dental floss.
A day or two before going for color I sometimes don't want to leave the house. I time the appointments with calendars of engagement dates and full moons and around mostly Katie's schedule. So, when I got the call before going into Philadelphia last week for a college reunion (a much better topic for those of you who want to check back next week) and a family gathering telling me Katie's children were ill and my back-up colorist was off that day, a wave of panic washed over me. They promised all would be righted the next day. This was almost as bad as having to pay for reticketing my flight because of my own booking mistake that cost almost as much as half a year of hair color.
When I don't stay on top of this color schedule I have been mistaken for my sister's mom, my children's grandmother. Cruella hair. Get the picture? I don't know how Bonnie Raitt has carried off her signature white-streaked look so long.
I am waiting for grandchildren, or Katie's retirement before I give in and go completely white-haired.
A day or two before going for color I sometimes don't want to leave the house. I time the appointments with calendars of engagement dates and full moons and around mostly Katie's schedule. So, when I got the call before going into Philadelphia last week for a college reunion (a much better topic for those of you who want to check back next week) and a family gathering telling me Katie's children were ill and my back-up colorist was off that day, a wave of panic washed over me. They promised all would be righted the next day. This was almost as bad as having to pay for reticketing my flight because of my own booking mistake that cost almost as much as half a year of hair color.
When I don't stay on top of this color schedule I have been mistaken for my sister's mom, my children's grandmother. Cruella hair. Get the picture? I don't know how Bonnie Raitt has carried off her signature white-streaked look so long.
I am waiting for grandchildren, or Katie's retirement before I give in and go completely white-haired.
After recovering from reading the Oprah chronicles on hair I was mentally challenged, again, soon after on a train ride into the city. Four beautiful college-aged girls with lovely locks talked up hair the entire hour into the city while twisting, flipping and splitting their ends. Shootings on the Southside, trouble in Syria, not on their minds.
My sister used to sleep with orange juice cans on top of her head to get the look they were complaining about having, as they primped and played.
Over the weekend, while standing in line for alum-tent-hamburgers at the Temple-Army football game, my college friend Donna, who I don't get to see all that often, found me easily in the crowd of 25,000-plus.
And it's not like she recognized me on Facebook (don't have it), or by my Linked-In profile pic (don't have one for reasons of national security), or this blog (which I try to write anonymously).
"Saw your hair she said," as we exchanged hugs and told each other how fantastic we looked.
Thanks Katie.
Over the weekend, while standing in line for alum-tent-hamburgers at the Temple-Army football game, my college friend Donna, who I don't get to see all that often, found me easily in the crowd of 25,000-plus.
And it's not like she recognized me on Facebook (don't have it), or by my Linked-In profile pic (don't have one for reasons of national security), or this blog (which I try to write anonymously).
"Saw your hair she said," as we exchanged hugs and told each other how fantastic we looked.
Thanks Katie.
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