a trip to long island (lyn)

I have nice hair.  Nice when it’s blown out by a professional.  Then it looks full and shiny and sleek.  But if a professional does not attend to my hair, it looks frizzy and unkempt.  In fact, growing up, that was the single biggest argument I had with my parents.  Particularly my father.  We would have huge fights.  Ones that far exceeded the boundaries of normalcy given the subject’s lack of gravity.  “Get those bangs out of your eyes.”  “You are such a pretty girl but who would know? No one can see your face.”  “Tell me, do you really think your hair looks good like that?”  

It was almost a relief to go to college just to escape the excessive fighting about my hair.

So when I read about the Brazilian treatment for hair straightening a few years ago, I think I'll try it.  The first time I do it is in September 2007.  The Japanese-Jewish stylist who does my hair is an expert.  She does a fantastic job.  But the product includes the ingredient formaldehyde.  You know, the one that’s a known carcinogen.  I decide to try something different next time.

In August 2008, I go to my sister’s home in Long Island where her hairdresser M does my hair.  This time, I agree to a Keratin process by Peter Coppola.  This is perfect.  My hair is relaxed, not straightened, and totally de-frizzed.  For over six months, I wash my hair and then spend about five minutes blow-drying it (without a brush).  This is perfect for me, as I have zero ability to blowout my own hair, despite years of trying and even one-on-one tutoring.

In June of 2009, my usual stylist, Stanley, agrees to match M’s price and he uses another Keratin product.  The results are again great.  And for eight months or so my hair looks good with little effort on my part.

So it’s time again.  Lately it looks as if my hair has just died.  Yes, I can attempt to blow it out, but the result is always short of good.  I usually end up pulling it back into some kind of messy-looking ponytail.  In my mind, I can hear my dad yelling, “Are you planning to go out looking like that?”   And I know in my heart that he’d be right in questioning my hairstyle.  Here are two photos from the other day.  Not so great.

A few weeks ago Corinne and I decide to go to M’s home in Long Island as she is (a) excellent at what she does, and (b) a lot less money than anyone in the city.

Corinne picks me up at 8:30.   We hit traffic on the Long Island Expressway, and arrive around 10.  M, whom I’ve only met once and haven’t seen since August 2008, looks at me and says, “Wow.  You look so different.  You lost a lot of weight, didn’t you?"  Forget my hair; I feel good already.

For the next four hours, Corinne and I alternate between having our hair washed, processed, blown out, and hand-ironed.  When we are finished, Corinne looks beautiful.  The blond highlights in her hair sparkle and the straight tresses are becoming to her face.  Not so for me.  I look hideous with my pin straight hair.  I look like a bad version of a Woodstock-era hippie.  Except older.  Much older.  I wish I could stay inside unseen for the next three days (as my hair must remain untouched, unwashed, and unclipped until Thursday).

Corinne and I are ready to leave at two.  Before paying, M casually says, “Oh, your sister told me not to let you pay.  It’s her birthday gift to you.”  Valerie shows class and subtlety in everything she does.   I had no idea she had planned this generous gift.  I am surprised and grateful, and truly touched.

As I’m putting on my coat on to leave, M says, “I can’t get over you.  You look younger.  More girlie.” 

More girlie? Ooooooh, I like that.