Dear Frizzy, Unruly Hair,
I get it—you’re stuck in the confusing middle ground between straight and curly. I know you’re struggling, but after all these years together, I think it’s high time you start behaving! Can you please choose a side? Whether it’s straight, curly, or even those effortless beachy waves I crave, I’m open to it all. But this unpredictable chaos? Not so much.
I appreciate the wild side of life, but not when it comes to my hair. I apologize for all the damage done in the past with dye and styling mishaps, but can we start fresh? I’ve been treating you better lately, after all.
I’ve tried every organic oil under the sun—coconut, Moroccan, avocado—but you seem unimpressed. Your flyaways laugh in the face of my efforts. I’ve wielded every straightener, curling iron, and anti-frizz product known to humankind. I’ve even indulged in those miracle lotions that promise to transform, but honestly, the only miracle I’ve seen is the excuse to linger in the shower a little longer, daydreaming about how fabulous you could look as I glide through Target, hair flowing with grace.
But instead, you stubbornly reject that vision, proving to be a miracle-repelling force that scoffs at luxury. I know you can be silky smooth; I’ve witnessed it after a good blowout. For those glorious five minutes, you shine brilliantly, only to transform into a frizzy mess the moment I step outside.
I know I shouldn’t bother when the weather is humid or drizzly, but I can’t help myself. Every time you give me the cold shoulder, I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle. And that finger-combing technique? Please—it’s more like I’ve just stepped out of a wild night of debauchery rather than achieving the chic look I’m after.
Wouldn’t it be lovely to swim without emerging from the water looking like a character from a kids’ show? There’s not a hat big enough to hide this hair catastrophe. I lose my mind if I forget to keep an elastic on my wrist—if I don’t have a hair tie, we might as well pack it up and go home.
I’ve slept with rollers the size of soda cans and tried every trick in the book, including dry shampoo and even pomade. Yet somehow, on those rare days when you actually look good, no one is around to witness it. Like last week when I was home sick—you were looking fabulous! What I wouldn’t give for you to cooperate during a night out or even a quick grocery run to show off that gorgeous mane.
Those burns on my neck from my salon-grade curling wand are a painful reminder that beauty comes at a cost. The saying that “beauty is pain” is no joke. My high-end hair dryer, complete with a diffuser, is always set on cool, and still, you seem oblivious to my gentle approach.
I’d love to say I’ve run out of patience where you’re concerned. You’re exhausting, and so much work, yet I can’t seem to give up on you. Please, do us both a favor and settle down. You shouldn’t be unruly all the time—you’re not pubic hair!
Are you trying to remind me of the chaos that surrounds me? Because, if so, mission accomplished! Every time I catch my reflection, I’m reminded of the pandemonium in my life. I just wish people wouldn’t assume I have my act together if I could tame you a bit.
Until then, I’ll be waiting for the “I just touched a live wire” look to become fashionable. But honestly, after over four decades, I fear that day may never come. Work with me here, will you?
Yours Truly,
Megan with the Wild Hair
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Summary:
In a humorous and relatable letter, Megan expresses her frustrations with her unpredictable frizzy hair while reminiscing about past hair battles. She highlights her efforts to tame her locks, from trying various products to enduring painful styling tools, all while yearning for a more manageable mane. Her plea is both heartfelt and comedic, illustrating the chaos that unruly hair can reflect in her life.
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