JUDGE NOT, ye readers!
Judge not the sensible plaid skirt and possibly-velvet blazer. Judge not the ruffled—RUFFLED—collar. Judge not the stickpin!
And please, I beg you, judge not the “Mom” perm.
It’s me, JD, at six-freaking-teen. So why do I look like a matronly lady at an office Christmas party?
What possessed me to turn my nice, shiny, pretty, MOVABLE hair into a neatly trimmed shrub? Was it peer pressure? The desire to appear more mature (in the above example, way more mature)? Was I already bored with my hair, at such a tender age? I don’t remember the reason, but for me, getting a perm was like plucking my eyebrows: once I started, I couldn’t stop.
A typical perm cycle went like this:
- First 3 weeks: hideously curly
- 4th week: perfect
- 5th week: totally straight
So I’d go thru the cycle over and over, just for that one week of perfectly curled hair (not pictured above). And perms were expensive, yo! And they stunk! And took forever and hurt and burned and stung. And, worst of all, the end result was usually the dreaded Bad Perm. All that work and money and pain, and you ended up with a Bad Perm. I can count on one hand my Good Perms, and we are looking at a roughly 15-year period.
My wedding perm was a disaster. One side curly, the other side straight, and too short to fix. I remember spending hours trying to get it to look halfway decent. ON MY HONEYMOON! Standing in the bathroom with a curling iron while Dave frolicked alone on the beach. OK, I may have made up the part about “frolicking,” but you get an idea of my frustration.
Finally I came to my senses and cut it all off. And then it grew. And grew. And grew still more. Today, long hair is the new perm, in that I can’t break out of the pattern, no matter how bad it looks.
At least it doesn’t stink.
Please share your perm horror stories and, if such a thing exists, perm success stories.
(By the way, I was not in the habit of dating boys with pixellated faces. This was my “serious” high school boyfriend, and he was very cute. You’d be sooo jealous. I don’t know what he was doing with me . . . oh, yeah: I totally put out!)
If You Want a Perm
Humor-bloggers never judge.