|I mean, it's better than my "real" hair as ever looked|
|Braided updo! Whoo hoo!!! Oh, updos how I've missed you....|
I think it goes without saying but I am incredibly blessed by the people I have in my life. I have so many supportive voices, and shoulders, and big generous hearts that it still cracks me up when people ask me "how can you be so positive?" um hello, it's pretty hard not to be, when you are swimming in so much love, right? You guys rock my world.
Well, a while ago, I was having a conversation with someone. This someone is amazing but would be a little shy to be called out in this way, so I will try not to give too much away about their identity. Please note the lack of gendered pronouns, I'm so slick. Anyways, me and this person were talking about my proph mastectomy (that's an optional, 'preventative' breast removal, for those of you not in on the c slang.) And this person said, with absolute no sarcasm and 100% sincerity - "who cares if they are real or fake? As long as you like them, and they look good to you, that's all that matters. "
Hold. The. Phone.
Who cares if they are real or fake? Do I care? I mean real is great and all, but really, um, no. I don't care. I don't care at all.
What a lightening bolt? What a revolutionary idea? Being born an SF hippy, I have always skewed my whole life towards "real" "all-natural" "blah blah blah" and suddenly here I was faced with all kinds of fake body partys and you know what? I DON"T CARE. Fake is not better or worse than real. In fact, a lot of times it is just plain better. Who cares if it was obvious my boobs, or my hair, or my tan was fake? Maybe what made it obvious they were fake is how good they looked. So much BETTER than real! So perky! No bra! So thick! So shiny! So brown! (Obviously talking about different things here.)
This was an epiphany for me, because I realized suddenly just how much control I had. I didn't have to just deal with the physical cards dealt to me with this shitty blow. I could have AWESOME, BEAUTIFUL, FAKE (fill in the blank) and it would be rad and I would still be hot (maybe even MORE hot?!?)
Now, I did not end up being eligible for this surgery. But, this idea has really bled into another one of my chemo-induced personal ego issues. The big one. The one I have struggled with from shiny bald head, to platinum pixie to auburn mullett.
My hair (or lack thereof.)
This idea of not being "real" was what helped me take the leap to the oft-lauded blonde pixie. And when my hair got long enough to need a cut (but not long enough to be anything stylish, and really just no fun anymore) then I knew it was time to try out the extensions. Let's be honest, I had been dreaming about getting extensions ever since I learned I would lose my hair. I had seen extensions in action, and they were beautiful.
Now, like everything else I do there was a big provision - do no harm. These extensions could not in any way damage my growing baby hair. That is clearly not the point of the exercise. With this in mind, mama Kathy got certified in a magical form of hair extensions which is performed with little, silicon lined beads. They "clip" onto the hair, can be adjusted as they grow out without pulling out any hair, and are surprisingly comfortable (seriously!)
Now, because there's no glue, you need your hair to be long enough to cover the beads before you can do this kind of extension. And I was really pushing it with the length my hair was (I needed a special top piece which covered the beads at the top, and the first couple of weeks I had to do some creative bobby pinning to hide my "too short bangs.") But I think in this case, a picture is worth a thousand words.
|Strategic bobby pinning + an updo for the St. Loo HEAT|
|BEFORE HAIR , hullo gorgeous mullet!|
|Look, I'm one of those cool celebrities with half a head of hair!|
|Amazing finished product, please note all the different colors which help make it look more natural|
|Weird, too short baby bangs! Hazaa!|
More strategic bobby pinning although you can better see the baby hairs here
I love my hair. And really, who cares if this hair is "real" - I mean it is real, it's just not "mine" (to which my mom's coworker replied "It's yours, you paid for it") Well, in that case it really belongs to all of you who helped me get my wig. Anyways, as usual I digress.
The point is it's not real. And I don't care at all. I'm actually proud of it because my mama did such a good job.
Does it look fake? Maybe, but it so you can only tell because it is SO much nicer, longer and thicker than my real hair has ever been. I have been marsha-marsha-marsha brushing it all day long. I even went swimming.
They may not be real. But really, who cares? Not I my friends, not I
Dena with the long hair
A few tips on maintaining your weave:
1) Wrap it up in a silk scarf to sleep. It prevents tangling, matting, and pulling out clumps while you toss and turn. Those cotton sheets are just to harsh for your delicate new weave, plus it adorable as so: