It wasn't until junior high in my 7th grade, I decided a permanent was the way to go. I'd look better, feel better and be popular with the boys. But it was the early 90s and sadly, no kind stranger had yet taken pity on my sad state of cluelessness. We also lived in the desert, where trend-setting styles were always late to the scene. My mom obliged by taking me to Cost Cutters, which had the best $30 perm available (said their window.) I told them I wanted nice waves to my flat hair, which was about six inches past my shoulders at the time. It also starting turning more of an ash blond, which my parents kindly reminded me how their hair did the same, landing on deep brown. swell.
The team was excited to get my new 'do started. I sat for hours with the squishy curlers in my hair and the stinky chemicals, and figured these Cost Cutting professionals knew what they were doing! But as I inspected more, the woven strands of hair seemed too tight for what we discussed. When they unveiled my fabulous waste of time, they were tiny ringlets of strange and lop-sided spirals. It also raised the poof-factor to 11, suddenly having a square top and shoulder length shelf. I sat there looking at myself. Horrified. I thought ok Brandi (HA, almost said ok Clark but that wouldn't be right) all I need to do is take a shower and re-style it and everything would be right in the world. The last several years had gifted me an immensely self conscious image, so I had to save this cemented box of hair in order to keep it together. My mom knew I wasn't stoked, but she's not one to point out my feelings. It was my decision to get the perm so she just judged it silently. swell.
Now, I don't know how perms are supposed to work, but their all important instructions were sternly related as "I couldn't wash my hair for three days, so the perm could set." Wait, set?! It still hasn't SET after all your pulling and papering and twisting and dousing? ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, yes it needs that many Hs - how am I going to live with this mess. The next few months had a lot of sad moments in front of the mirror, feeling tied to this beast. It wasn't pretty. Side note, I still have the reminder of that perm because my hair was NEVER the same after that. Friday was straight. Saturday was a curly, wavy mess, never to see it's linear cousin again. Granted, it's much, much better now, but there are still areas in the back I struggle with because of that day. So when thinking of the children, please don't let them get a perm.
When the incident finally gave way to fresher pastures, I met a brilliant new friend at school named Jessica. She was so different than anyone I'd ever known before and I loved her. I spent a lot of time at Jessica's house and I can still picture her and her room, sitting with Dennis the dog (who I thought was so strange for eating toilet paper.) She was clever, funny and thrift-store hip. Jessica also hung out with an older crowd on the weekends, going to raves "down below," and on Monday would relay what was new with the club kids. She made fur boots and would style her hair like Sailor Moon. She was the first person to help me begin to understand fashion and my style, and tell me I was cool. I suddenly wanted to be different and spend time figuring out what I liked, disliked, and really allow this unknowingly, repressed personality to wake. Swoon...
Jessica's mom always worked, so our time together was spent at her house, because unsupervised tweens with no car is tops! One day I mentioned I was jealous she was allowed to dye her hair. She had this amazing orangey-red color, but could change it to anything. She mentioned a dyeing technique using Kool-Aid. She said it was easy and gave a subtle color, so my mom probably wouldn't notice. Well ding ding, this was the thing I was waiting for! We walked down to the grocery store and found the wall of powders. I loved Jessica's color so I went for Orange. I ended up getting 5 packets because I had no idea how much I'd need. I preciously carried them back to her place; I didn't want anything happening to them. I was nervous because this would be the first time putting on my parental defiance pants. But I was super excited! Stupidly, we should have used the time walking back to formalize the instructions. Instead, we arrived and it was time for me to head home.
I hid my purchase from my mom and was silent in the car, thinking how could I do all this without anyone knowing. The bathroom I used was right before all the bedrooms, so clanking and fussing would cause attention. I had to be quiet. I also had to sort how would I get the orange color on my locks and how long to keep it on. I wanted fierce color but not so much I got busted. I decided to do a small test on the back section. You know, because doing something for the first time and not being able to see it, is smarts. I pulled out the packet and poured about a teaspoon into my hand. I sat there staring like I am really gonna do this. YES!!! I added a little water to make a paste, slathered & smushed it on. ok, now what. I gave it a good 5 minutes and rinsed it out. Huh. Nothing. My hair looks the same. So I repeated the process, let is set for 10 minutes. Nothing again?! I think I tried for a half hour, by running to my room and sitting there. Nothing, yet again. I was so bummed...
The next day I told Jessica about by futile attempt and the lack of results. She just laughed but it was never in a mean way. It was like oh sweetie, you poor thing, you've never had anyone to show you nuthing. She explained I needed to boil it first like actually making Kool-Aid and dunk my head in for a while. I decided to forgo the drink and just pester my mom instead, till she gave up. I WON SHORTLY AFTER and orange hair was finally mine... but this time, purchased from the hair care aisle.
Later, Jessica mentioned I should bleach my hair... Cue a 90s picture of my face in a silly, "Who me!" way, with a laugh track and a bottle of clorox behind me. yup.
This is what comes up when you search google.
My pony-tailed blond hair (post will be updated with my tween self, when I can find one):
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