One of the major things I hate about extreme temperatures (yeah, this about the heat. SORRY. It's been really hot) is that it means I have to wash my stupid hair.
Yes. That's one of my biggest complaints. Because seriously, people, I never wash my hair. By never, I mean once a week, but I sure as hell try to stretch it if I can. Like, if I know no one important's going to see me. One time I even got to TWO weeks. There was a scarf on my head the last day, sure, but it was awesome. (No offense to anyone who saw me during that second week, I'm sure you're important to someone.)
No, my parents did not raise me this way. They're normal people. Hygenically, I mean. Otherwise they're kind of bonkers, but hygenically, we had a completely normal upbringing. I only really started on this hair-care plan when I was in my mid-twenties. I'd wanted to do it before, because everyone's heard about how much better it is for your hair, but it's a pain in the ass to begin implementing (you have to ease into it) and it's sort of weird to get over the whole cultural obsession with daily or every-other-daily hair washing.
New Year's Eve 2006, my brother and I moved into our apartment on North Margin Street, in Boston's North End. The building adjacent to Pizzeria Regina's. Yes! That one. When I say that, everyone's like "Ooooh, the North End! I love the North End! You must have loved living there!" Well...yes and no.
I have joked before that we lived in a tenement. At least, everyone always takes it as a joke, but for real, the stove was the heater. Not like we opened the stove to generate heat, although that might have been more effective than the blower with High, Medium and Low settings built into the side. It's funny, in retrospect. It is also more horrifying than it was at the time, because I think we went into some kind of Survivor Mentality that allowed us to function in that space.
Case in point: the bathroom. I literally don't remember what the inside of our shower looked like, I have repressed it that hard. I also don't think I opened my eyes much. I do know that the water came out in a series of unpredictable trickles and spasms, and was never hot. It would get warm, sort of, but never hot, not once. When we moved to the East Somerville spot (which was so, so swag in comparison) I think I took like, three showers a day, just to feel hot water - MY hot water! - all over me. And due to the pre-Industrial heater situation, it was never warm in the apartment, either. None of this makes sticking your big head of hair under the faucet appealing.
Add to this: the electrical wiring situation. Again, I am not exaggerating when I say I had to go around and unplug EVERY ELECTRONIC APPLIANCE before thinking about turning the hair dryer on. And if I forgot to unplug say...the television, then all the fuses in the goddamn apartment would go. And since we were on the ground floor, in the back of the building, surrounded by taller buildings, a blown fuse meant we were plunged into total darkness. And we couldn't just go flip the fuse-switch-thingie ourselves, of course. The fusebox was in the basement which was, inexplicably, locked. So I'd have to call the landlord's son, who lived in Revere. He was actually really super nice about it, but sometimes he wouldn't get there for hours. So, have fun getting ready for work with your mostly-wet head of crazy hair! Hope your clothes match!
This did, however, lead to the creation of the greatest short film of our generation. My brother went home for lunch every day. On one such 'kk blew the fuses and Vinnie's (that was really his name, I'm not being racist) not here yet' lunches, he sent me a video message. I opened it at my desk: thirty seconds of complete darkness, total silence, and then my brother's voice: "I call this: Take A Dump In The Dark." Masterful.
All this, plus the fact that I lived five minutes from work, and was 25 and thought staying up until 3:00 was still totally normal...washing my hair, and the subsequent drying endeavor (I do not have a wash-n-wear situation) became fucking arduous. Like, too much could go wrong. So I cut it back. And it actually does make your hair way healthier. You get all your natural oil production back on track, and there's way less damage from heat styling. It makes you way easier to travel with. And! Since you're only buying like, two bottles of shampoo a year, you can totally spring for the good stuff.
Or you can spend the savings on books and dresses and self tanning lotion, I don't know, it's your money. Go make yourself happy.
OMF, look at that baby washing its hair! Thank you GoogleImage! This baby is an exception to the above, and should wash its hair every day. Holy crazy cute.
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