I’m slowly but surely crossing over to the dark side. Three years ago, I went an entire summer without conditioning my hair, as I was living in France and the country does not sell conditioner in many stores. I limit my conditioning to twice a week, but I’m going to begin doing the same with shampoo. It looks like I may consider embracing the “no ‘poo” movement, which rejects shampoo altogether.
With red hair, I already have oilier locks than most, so I’ve chosen to cut down the amount of chemical products I use. I won’t be eschewing them entirely, but only using them when absolutely necessary. It’s the only way to appear and feel nice in the humid northeast summer. Because if I’m not careful, here’s how greasy my hair can look in the warmer months:
Hard to believe that photo was taken ten years ago, when I was still in my “I heart Paul Frank” phase and as fiery a ginger as I’ve ever been. I get full blond highlights every three months now, so you’ll never see me that red again. And thank God for that! I don’t really think the color fits my personality anymore, although that shade of blue will always flatter my pasty skin tone. Fourth of July was such an intense event for my friends and I in those years. Everyone in our small town always came together in my neighborhood to watch the fireworks, so the girls and I would use the gathering as an opportunity to look out for our crushes from school that we hadn’t seen in a month, which seemed like the equivalent of a year to us since we spent the majority of our time stuck with people in class. We usually spotted someone we liked but rarely initiated conversation. If we said “hi” to said individual, the summer was made. Flirting was not our forte. It most certainly isn’t mine now, unless of course I’m talking about politics, social issues, or book publishing. In other words, total buzzkill conversation topics at the bar.
That’s one thing I’ve been a bit morose about lately. I’d rather just flee to a bar of fellow geeks so we can all discuss the election and other nerdy things and skip the vapid, “what do you do” crap. This isn’t to say I’m an intellectual by any means. I enjoy laughing about stupid stuff, but I’m not really one to like screaming over loud music with a Blue Moon in hand. More often than not, I spill the drink on my arm or the ground and completely ruin the mood. Is there a bar in NYC specifically for dorks? I think I need to retreat there. I’ll never be cool enough for the bro hotspots in the financial district. And I’m okay with that 🙂