I’ve never been one to covet hairstyles in magazines or on the heads of Friends stars. In fact, one could argue that I haven’t had a lick of style to my coif since I was 12, save the one time I got an honest to goodness *great* haircut in Washington D.C. in the summer of 1995. That was a feat that has not been reproduced since.

My hairdresser, whose creative drive I’ve stifled during my six or seven previous visits with insistence that she leave it a certain length and not to do “anything drastic,” looked pleased when I granted her full artistic license. This time, I was feeling ballsy. It had been several months since my last cut and then it was only to even up the ragged ends of my post-travel hippy hair prior to a wedding. It’s been 17 years since my hair has been above my shoulders. I figured it was time to let go a little more.

Except for that one school year in 1987 when I depleted my grocer’s supply of Extra Strong Hold Aquanet along with the ozone layer above Australia, I’ve never been one to beat my hair into submission with a host of styling products and heated implements. Waxes, sprays, gels, balms, mousses and pomades promising to control, smooth, straighten, defrizz, shine, gloss, texture or tame my hair befuddle me. I’m more of a ‘wash and go’ kind of girl.

I watched quietly and sipped my Oolong tea as long wet strands of hair hit the floor in quick succession. I winced slightly as she blew it out with a round brush and smoothed down my flyaways with a product she knew I would definitely not buy. I wondered why every hairdresser on earth insists that my hair wants to be straight. I pictured myself with the three arms necessary to recreate what she had done. I felt thankful that my hair grows quickly.

I confess, I am a bit preoccupied with my locks. As a friend once said to me, “Anyone who knows you knows that can’t leave your hair alone.” I demanded that he feel for himself the satisfying sensation of running fingers down a wave that ends in a flippy curl at the end. He agreed. Anyway, I blame my mother for my congenital hair-twirling condition. She had a loose afro of naturally curly hair in which her hand took up near-permanent residence.Those of you who detest this affectation of mine, may you take comfort in the fact that I am now missing the critical flippy bits worth bothering with.