As someone born with fine, straight dark hair, I was always envious of girls with luscious curls. From a young age, I longed for the tight, bouncy ringlets that seemed to define beauty during that era. Think of the character Ramona Quimby, who idolized Susan, the curly-haired girl in front of her at school. I had my own version of that obsession with my best friend, Emily, who sported stunning curly blonde locks. Fortunately, being friends allowed me the freedom to “boing” her curls to my heart’s content—unbeknownst to me, she wished for my sleek strands in return.
Curly hair was the epitome of style in the ’80s, as reflected by the celebrities of that time. Almost every star flaunted voluminous, extravagant hairstyles. I look back now and cringe at some of those ’80s styles, yet I couldn’t get enough of Madonna’s teased perm or Sarah Jessica Parker’s iconic corkscrew curls. Even male icons like Jon Bon Jovi and other heavy metal stars sported their own unfortunate perms.
After what felt like an eternity of pleading, I finally convinced my mother to let me get a perm at 11 years old. I can’t fathom why she agreed—I certainly wouldn’t allow my own child to undergo such a transformation. But the ’80s was a different time; perms were all the rage. My argument was simple: my mother had enjoyed a few perms herself, so it seemed unfair that I had to wait.
Our outing led us to a bustling beauty salon in the mall. I vividly remember the discomfort of having my hair tightly wound around rollers, which was a painful experience. Sitting under the dryer with that iconic dome was thrilling, but the overwhelming stench of the chemicals—reminiscent of rotten eggs—was unforgettable.
Post-perm, I was advised not to wash my hair for a few days. The lingering smell was so strong that I often had to hold my breath. However, my hair looked fantastic. I could run my fingers through it and bounce those curls to my delight. Finally, I had achieved the hair I had always wanted—gorgeous corkscrew curls.
That joy was short-lived. As soon as I washed my hair for the first time, my meticulously styled curls vanished. Within days, I transformed into a girl resembling a frizzy mess, akin to someone who had just touched an electric outlet.
You might think I received some guidance on how to care for my new perm. Perhaps there were products, like mousse or gel, recommended by the stylists. However, I suspect my mom didn’t have much insight to offer. Her only advice was, “Just put it in a ponytail.”
As a result, I endured the embarrassment of having enormous hair for nearly six months until it grew out. I blended right in with the other ’80s girls—big, frizzy hair was the norm.
Ultimately, this experience taught me an invaluable lesson, which I suspect was my mother’s intention all along. As my straight hair began to return, I developed a newfound appreciation for my simple, manageable locks. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side—or curlier, for that matter.
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In summary, my quest for curly hair in the ’80s resulted in a lesson about self-acceptance. The allure of curls was ultimately overshadowed by the reality of frizz and maintenance, leading me to embrace my natural hair.