Then, in my second year, a miracle happened. I was asked to be a hair model for Japanese hair straightening, a process by which the molecules of my curls would be shattered and reset in a bone-straight position.
I was the perfect “before” and “after” candidate, the hairdresser told me.
Although there are rumours about how hair relaxing can damage the scalp, for the next five years I didn’t find them to be true. All of the hairdresser’s promises were fulfilled: With my strands straight and smooth in a stylish bob, I was no longer Medusa but a distant cousin of Jennifer Aniston.
However, there was extreme damage done to my wallet. To keep up the straightening cost $700 every six months, and that was considered cheap. While some people thought I was crazy, I was willing to do anything to never again feel like that frazzled , frizzy-headed girl in Grade 7.
But when I moved out of my parents’ house at age 26 and rented an apartment, the upkeep of my sleek image became too costly.
I couldn’t hide from my inner Medusa any longer. It was time to embrace her and let her fly.
Seeking an alternative to my high-end habit, I turned to the oracle that always has answers: Google.
After hours of searching, I stumbled upon a “curly haired” salon, a place designed for girls like me who were at their wits’ end.
I doubted these so-called “Curl Ambassadors” could do anything without using a contraption of some sort, and though I bought the service called the “Curly-Doo,” I suspected I’d have the same unruly mop at the end of the appointment.
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