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The Iconic ’80s Hair Saga: A Perm Mishap
As a child, I possessed fine, straight brown hair. From a young age, I found myself envious of those with luscious curls. The allure of bouncy, voluminous hair was undeniable. I often thought of the character Ramona Quimby and her fascination with Susan, the curly-haired girl in front of her at school. Ramona would tug at Susan’s curls just to hear them bounce back. My best friend in elementary school had stunning curly hair, and I was equally captivated. The beauty of our friendship allowed me to enjoy her curls without any consequences. Ironically, I later discovered she wished for my sleek, straight locks and would have swapped in a heartbeat.
In the vibrant culture of the ’80s, curly hair was celebrated and idolized. Every celebrity flaunted their voluminous styles—Madonna’s teased perm and Sarah Jessica Parker’s corkscrew curls were particularly enviable. Even male icons like Jon Bon Jovi sported memorable perms that became a staple among rock stars.
After what felt like an eternity of pleading, I successfully convinced my mother to let me get a perm at age 11. I’m still unsure why she agreed, as I wouldn’t allow my own child to undergo such a transformative hairstyle at that age. Perhaps it was the overwhelming trend of perms in the era that swayed her decision, coupled with my argument that she had experienced a few perms herself.
The day of my appointment, I remember feeling both excitement and apprehension as my hair was tightly rolled on curlers. The thrill of sitting under a heated dome in the salon was overshadowed by the unbearable stench of the chemicals, reminiscent of rotten eggs.
Post-treatment, I was advised against washing my hair for several days, a challenge given the lingering odor that compelled me to hold my breath frequently. However, the moment I ran my fingers through my new curls, I felt a surge of joy—my dream of having perfect, bouncy curls had finally come true.
But that elation was short-lived. As soon as I washed my hair, the tightly defined curls vanished. Within days, I transformed from a girl with beautiful ringlets to one resembling an electric shock victim, with frizzy, shapeless hair. You might assume I received maintenance instructions for my perm, but if they existed, they were lost on me. My mother’s advice was simple: “Just put it up in a ponytail.”
Thus began my six-month ordeal of managing an unruly mane that didn’t quite fit the idealized ’80s aesthetic. It was a time when many girls sported similarly large, frizzy hairstyles, and I blended right in. This experience taught me a valuable lesson—perhaps my mother intended for me to learn this all along. As my natural hair gradually grew back, I began to appreciate my straight, manageable locks in a way I never had before. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side—or, in this case, curlier.
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In summary, my childhood perm experience serves as a humorous yet poignant reminder that trends can often lead to unexpected results. Embracing one’s natural hair can reveal a newfound appreciation for simplicity and ease.