Hair, or If it's not one parent it's the other

When Skyping with my parents, I prefer to keep the camera on Gracie. Not only is she far more interesting, she also understands no Russian and, as such, is in no position to react to mom's critiques of her "inadequate" tail, among other things. I, on the other hand, am expected not only to understand when mom asks me what's wrong with my forehead, but also to respond. This is a challenge, because I don't believe there's anything wrong with my forehead (and "I don't know" is not a satisfactory answer as far as mom is concerned).

Unfortunately, after a healthy stretch of pointing the camera at the cat, I was asked to reverse the camera.

Mom: It would be nice to see you.
A.: But she's far more interesting.
Dad: Perhaps, but we've already looked at her enough for one evening. We get it. We understand that you're not trying to compete with her.
A.: Fine. [I reverse the camera].
Mom: Your face is gaunt. Are you eating less?
A.: Um, no.
Mom: What are you eating?
A.: I've had [tortilla chips] for lunch every day this week.
Mom: Huh.
Dad: Your hair is dirty.
A.: It is not! I washed it this morning! It has never been cleaner!
Dad: Okay, okay! It's just... not pouffy.

***
Did you see the huge shift in my tone from responding to mom, to responding to dad? I'm so accustomed to mom's nit-picking at my appearance--it's just what she does--that it's natural for me to respond in an even tone. I hardly take note of the content; she could say, "why is there a vine growing out of your ears?" and I'd calmly say, "because there just is." But dad! Dad generally says things that make sense, so I take them at face value.

And yet, I can't win with these people: I get called out for having Hagrid hair, and I get called out for not having Hagrid hair. Now, I just blogged about my hair (in a sociological context), so I won't get into all that again; you can also see the difference here between when I bother to smooth my hair and what my dad calls pouffy (and my mom calls Hagridy).

I will, for context, reiterate that I have a lot of f*ing hair and it is out of control, and I don't have the skill, time, or patience to deal with it. And this is--actually, I'd be lying if I said it was the only one--one of the only contexts where you'll hear me introduce a point with, "I have black friends..." but when a black friend recently discussed what else she had to do that day, including washing her hair, I knew what she meant (not only because I understand that "black" hair is its own circle of hell in terms of maintenance, and mine is nothing like that, but because as white people hair goes, mine is pretty high-maintenance, to the point that I totally see it as an ordeal). If I'm feeling lazy on a morning that I really should wash my hair, and the weather is remotely amenable to biking to work, I'll sooner bike to work and wash my hair when I get there than muster the resolve to deal with my hair then and there.

Not that you care--but if you're still here, you probably do--but here's how I manage my unmanageable hair: first of all, I invest in a good haircut (as discussed and shown here (same link as "difference here," above)). That makes a huge, huge difference. Also, as haircuts go, I don't have it cut above shoulder length, because my hair--most thicker hair--only becomes more manageable with length. Go here for further discussion of the politics of hair length.

Second, I wash my hair no more than every few days, not just because the washing itself is an ordeal but because my hair becomes increasingly manageable with each day after washing (until it inevitably reaches the point where it must be washed again). So my dad has some basis for his assumption that my hair was dirty, because it was flat.

Third, I don't fight it, i.e., I don't try to flatten or straighten it when it's in its full, clean, pouffy, curly glory. I let it dry naturally and maybe put some crap in it to lessen the frizz. Then, as it becomes tamer over the next couple of days, I might take a flat iron to it. You can read in one of those links above about how the general consensus, which includes on its side the views of a friend shocked to find herself coming down on the side of the straight hair, that I look significantly better with straight hair.

The thing is, I don't really care enough (hence the not trying to fight my hair--much less having the time, skill, or patience for it). My hair looks decent, curly. What I've come to really despise is the nasty in-between stage: neither curly nor flat, just all over the place. This stage is why I got the flat-iron in the first place.

And that's where I found myself yesterday: I didn't have time to air-dry my hair before leaving my house, and taking a dryer to it took out the curl without taking out the poof. So I stuck it in a ponytail to take out the poof. Voila, by evening, my hair was flat enough that my dad thought it was filthy, and I was shocked enough by the allegation to argue with him, and then compose a whole blog post about it.