Search Results: Michele Bender

They might not have felt the earth move when Katelyn Epperly sang, but at least they loved her curls!

Season after season, I have watched them take one beautiful curly contestant after another —think Jordan Sparks, Syesha Mercado, Kimberley Locke and Jennifer Hudson —and straighten her locks. So I was pleasantly surprised that the American Idol judges actually had positive comments about one of the things that makes Katelyn stand out — those gorgeous curls!

If she moves on in the competition, let’s hope she won’t subjected to the typical Idol makeover, flat ironing her curls to conform with an increasingly outdated standard of beauty.

Thank you Taylor Swift and Shakira and all the other amazing curly female singers who have proved that one need not change a fundamental part of your appearance to sell records!

— Michelle Breyer

I’m happy to say that I had my second curly hair cut. It was just a trim, though with us curlies (wow, that’s the first time I’ve put myself in that group”> every little bit counts and an inch off can seem like ten!

Though my hair is shorter than I’d like because the ends were frayed and dried up, I’m thrilled that for the first time in almost seven years, the curly hair on my head is longer than the straight.

The plus side is that months ago this was a phase I could only dream about; the downside is that it looks a lot worse than I anticipated. Now I have waves that reach a few inches below my ears with about three to four inches of straight ends. It doesn’t sound like much but it looks awful. Just imagine a long piece of rotini pasta on top of a piece of spaghetti. And the back just seems horrible.

It reminds of this girl I was friends with in grade school. She had a head full of adorable, brown Little Orphan Annie ringlets in kindergarten but by first grade her mother had taken her to a salon that relaxed hair. This was 35 years ago, long before anyone had muttered the words “thermal reconditioning” or “Japanese straightening” so who knows what kind of chemicals they were stirring up and slathering on her hair. And I have to say that the results weren’t pretty. Her hair was stiff, dry and dull looking. While most kids had messy hair that moved with the wind or when they swung from the monkey bars, hers moved as one piece like a helmet. But it was the back that always looked so strange to me. (Because her name came right before mine in the alphabet, I sat behind her in class for four or five years and thus had lots of time to analyze it.”> Just weeks after she had it relaxed, the back would be half curly and half straight with the fried, rough ends that made it look lifeless and dead. Plus, all the chemicals they used erased any bit of shine.

And guess what? That’s what mine looks like now! (Maybe this is what I get for mentally criticizing her hair all those years.”> When I was getting it cut a few stylists asked me why I didn’t just cut off the straight ends off, but I’m just not ready. If I did that, my hair would shoot up into the horrible, curly bob I got by accident in tenth grade. According to Lorraine Massey, the straight ends and length create gravity, which makes the curls appear to grow down rather than out. For now I’ll rely on that gravity, some hair gel and a few ponytail holders to keep me on the straight and narrow as I dream about the day when my straight ends are lying on the salon floor.

As a magazine writer, I’ve done enough stories on weight loss to know that gradually shedding pounds, rather than crash dieting, is the best way to keep that extra flab at bay for good.

I recently realized that gradually going curly is the best way to keep the chemical straighteners off my strands for good, too.

However, I didn’t think this would be the case at first. After all, I’m typically not the slow and steady type. When I decide to do something, I want to do it today. (Actually, yesterday!”>

The day I decided to organize my pantry, I was at The Container Store that afternoon buying matching jars of various sizes and within an hour of being home all my snacks and staples were neatly displayed. When I decided to re-do my daughter’s bedroom, I had paint samples that afternoon and 24-hours later it had gone from baby pink to her new favorite hue of blue.

So I felt the same way when I started the journey to going curly. I didn’t want to wait weeks or months to see results, I wanted to see them A.S.A.P. If I’d had my way, I would have gone to bed straight and woken up curly.

Of course, changing your strands isn’t as easy as repainting a room and I can’t control the rate that my hair grows. As a result, I had to be patient –something that’s not part of my nature – over these last months as my natural strands emerge. Sometimes it’s slow—painfully slow- and frustrating. But I will say that it’s this gradual growth that has made me see that I really do want my curls. (What’s that expression about anything worthwhile taking time?”>

As you can see from this blog, I haven’t always been sure that taking the curly route was the way to go. But over this journey little things have happened to make me certain. A few months ago, I was photographed for a magazine article (Real Simple’s February issue”>. With hair that’s half curly and half straight, the stylist decided to blow it out. I was hesitant at first, but once she promised not to use shampoo or a flat iron I said ok. When I told her I had a big party the next day she said, “How lucky that your hair will already be done!” At first I agreed and was psyched about my free blow out. But as the day went on I saw that I didn’t like my hair so straight. I was actually excited to wash it that night and get my mismatched strands back. (A huge step since back when I was blow drying my curly hair, my whole schedule revolved around eeking several days out of a professional blow out.”>

Then the article came out and though friends keep saying how great they think I look, I can’t stand the photo because my hair looks so, well, straight. Also, over this time I’ve gotten to see other women with hair like mine eventually will be and feel that pang of envy. I know things happen for a reason and this long wait is helping me feel confident about going back to my true roots. I now know I will not miss my flat locks something I wouldn’t be certain of if I’d been able to get my curls back in a snap. In a way it reminds me of when I was pregnant and I realized that one bonus to those long nine months was the ability to mentally adjust to the eventual change in your life, something that would be too harsh if your little bundle of joy arrived any sooner. Of course, now that I’ve learned this lesson, I’m hoping the stork will deliver a full head of curls any day now!

They say that the “first cut is the deepest” and that’s exactly how I felt the first time I got my hair cut after deciding to stop chemically straighten my hair. After months of hating my locks and hiding them behind a ponytail, I decided I needed a trim. After all, I know that cutting your mane helps it grow and my straight ends were looking really sad and split. I also know that the more straight hair I cut off, the closer I get to being a curly girl. But since my hair has two personalities right now – curly until a few inches below my ears and straight from there to a few inches below my shoulder, I wasn’t sure where and how to get it cut. Should I go to the salon where I usually take my straight strands? Or hit a curly hair salon for the first curly cut of the rest of my life? I knew the former would blow dry and flat iron my hair straight and I admit having smooth strands (or at least strands that were all doing the same thing”> was tempting. But I couldn’t bare the thought of the curls I do have being subjected to all that tugging, trauma and heat. Right now my hair may not look good, but I do love the fact that the top half is the healthiest hair I’ve had in six years. These virgin strands have never been shampooed (I use DevaCurl No-Poo which doesn’t contain harsh detergents”>. They’ve never been touched by a brush (I finger comb my hair in the shower when it’s slathered in conditioner”> or felt the heat of a blow dryer or flat iron (I air dry even on the coldest days”>. Not one chemical has touched their surface, but rather they’ve been given almost as much tender loving care as my two children when they were newborns. (Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration, but not much of one!”> In light of this, I decided that part of committing to going curly was going to a curly salon. So I emailed Lorraine Massey (whose Curly Girl 2 book I’m co-writing”> and asked if she could squeeze me in for a cut. At first I thought she’d think I was nuts since I’m not a curly girl yet, but she happily made time for me one night after all her regular appointments.

Walking into Devachan that night, I felt a little silly since at first glance I still look pretty straight. But then I took a look at the other clients and was in awe of all the curls around me. Each head of hair was different and unique and I would have traded my strands for any one of them. They looked healthy and natural. They looked free. And all the women whose heads they sat upon looked beautiful. No matter how thin, fat, tall or short these women were, they looked gorgeous. So if I hadn’t been ready to drink the curly Kool-Aid yet, this was my turning point. Of course, my excitement was tempered when I sat in Lorraine’s chair and saw my reflection in the mirror. The hair that I rationalized looked okay these last few months looked awful. Even though I joke that there are two personalities of hair on my head, I’ve kind of thought that the curly part just added volume and that the difference between the two wasn’t so striking. I guess being surrounded by mirrors that showed every inch of my head –front and back and sides- showed me the truth. Then Lorraine went to work, spritzing my dry hair with a tad of lavender spray and snipping away. She encouraged me that my curls were growing and that I was on my way. Then she told me that I didn’t have to spend the rest of my growing out phase in a ponytail. I wasn’t sure what she meant since I knew blow-drying my hair straight was a suggestion that would never come out of her curlcentric lips. “You can curl the bottom using clips and a bit of gel,” she said. “Really?” I said skeptically. But then she showed me how. She took the straight ends of my hair, spritzed them a bit and applied some gel, wrapped them in little clips and left them in my hair for about ten minutes while I sat under a hooded dryer. Then she took them out and voila, I had wavy, gorgeous hair. I looked the girls I’d envied just half an hour ago. I couldn’t believe it. I was reminded what I looked like curly and I liked it. The difference was so striking. I actually loved my hair. Yes, loved! Of course, this was just short-term passion because once wet they’d go back to straight, but I couldn’t believe how good it made me feel to have my hair done. I didn’t pay enough attention to what Lorraine to be able to replicate it myself, but I know next time I get a hair cut I will. And I also realized that if I do have a special occasion or want to give myself a lift, going to the salon for a little curling will do the trick. It’s something so simple and so small, but this realization lifted me up and filled me with motivation just when I was feeling weary from the marathon of going curly.

Usually my kids fight over candy, toys or TV. Today, they were fighting about my hair. “I don’t want Mom’s hair to be curly,” said my four-year-old son. “I want it curly,” replied my seven-year-old daughter. Regardless of their stance on my strands neither has seen my hair curly.

My daughter was a year old when I first got it straightened and my son was, well, not a twinkle in my eye. When I got pregnant with him, I heard that I couldn’t have my curly roots touched up. There’s no scientific evidence that it’s bad for pregnant women, but my straightening guy doesn’t like using chemicals on mommas-in-the-making. To say I was disappointed is an understatement. Not only was my belly (and butt”> getting big and bumpy, so was my hair! (Had I known, I would’ve tried to time the conception of my second child to just a few days post-straightening.”> Instead, those nine months were tough.

I used to joke that the first person I was going to call after my baby was born was the salon where I get my hair straightened. (Actually it wasn’t a joke. Since my parents were already at the hospital, I called the salon before calling my best friend! But don’t tell.”> Two weeks post-partum, I was in my stylist’s chair happily getting my curly roots tamed. There’s a photo of me and my son from just a few days later and it’s one of my favorites. I’m literally glowing — not just because I had a beautiful, healthy baby boy — but also because I had shiny, sleek straight hair after several months of bumps.

But back to my kids’ battle over mom’s curls. My daughter only wanted my hair curly because my husband talks wistfully about my curly days – the poor guy even carries a photo of my waves in his wallet! But it was only recently that I let my daughter know my hair was naturally curly. The first few years of her life, her hair was slow growing so I wasn’t sure if it would be straight or curly. If it was curly, I didn’t want her to feel bad about it – which she would if she knew I was straightening mine. (Incidentally, her locks turned out to be stick straight, thick and shiny – the kind of hair I envied as a kid.”>

My son’s rationale for wanting my hair to stay straight was that he thought I was going to drop him off at school with straight hair and pick him up with curly locks. He didn’t realize that the change would be so painfully slow and gradual that he’d barely notice. “I can always go back to straight if we don’t like it,” I reassured him (and admittedly myself.”>

Naturally, by school pick-up time, my hair wasn’t any curlier than it was when I dropped him off. Though I admit that when I did my daily check of the back of my hair –using two strategically placed bathroom mirrors- I was pleasantly surprised to see that the curls in the back now hit the nape of my neck. Unfortunately, those in the front reach just up to the top of my ears. According to Devachan curl guru Lorraine Massey, that’s because the exposed front gets much more wear and tear.

Still my hair doesn’t look pretty. It’s a mix of styles and textures like a bowl of various types of pasta. Some strands look like linguine, some like rotini, while others look like elbow macaroni. Despite this, I’m shocked that I’m not even tempted to blow my hair out. I guess I feel like if I’m going to go for the curl, I might was well give those hairs a fighting chance and leave them be without heating, tugging and torturing them. So I stored my blow dryer until cold weather comes and tossed my flat iron (I thought of donating it to someone, but realized doing so was completely uncharitable since no one should be burning her strands”>.

I also said good-bye to my round brush and tossed every bottle of shampoo in the house — even those belonging to my kids. They don’t have curls, but hearing about the harsh chemicals they contain I’ve decided to make us a poo-free family and, though no one cares but me, I swear everyone’s hair looks healthier. Now if I could only figure a way to get my hair curlier by school pick up, I’d be thrilled.

Along with being a beauty writer, I’m also a health writer. When interviewing experts for weight-loss stories, several have said that it’s a good idea to tell other people when you’re trying to shed a few pounds. Why? First, you’re less likely to pig out when you know others are watching and if you do eat a few Oreos, their raised eyebrows may keep you from devouring the whole box. Second, your friends, co-workers and Aunt Rose won’t push food on you when they know you’re trying to trim down. Lastly, sharing your goal creates a support team – your own band of cheerleaders who help you stick with it (especially at times when you wish you’d kept the whole idea to yourself and could tuck into a pan of brownies”>. I’ve decided to use this strategy to help me come out of the curly closet and commit to it. Of course, I didn’t just tell close friends and family that I was heading off the straight and narrow; I started telling pretty much anyone who would listen (as you can tell from this blog”>. Just the other day, I was in the elevator with a curly girl. It was raining so I asked her how her curls were holding up and then proceeded to tell her about growing out my strands. She didn’t seem to care – at all, actually- but I felt better. I think saying it out loud has less to do with the other person and more to do with me, since each time I say, “I’m going back to curly” I’m committing myself even more. (Not to mention that sharing my goal explains why I’m always sporting a ponytail.”>

But it was telling two of my closest girlfriends that made me realize how clueless the straight world is about the curly. At a recent lunch date, I was talking about working on Curly Girl 2 with Lorraine. “How can there can be enough information to write a whole book about curls?” one asked. I answered by explaining how Lorraine has studied curls for a decade and that she had loads of secrets to share. I also told them some of the tricks of the curly trade i.e. no brushing (which stunned and confused them!”>. As I continued to ramble on, they looked at me with blank stares. Soon enough, they looked bored by the subject (quite a contrast to lunch with a curly colleague just the day before: she sat rapt as I told her about my hair and all I’d learned working on the book.”> But it was with my friends that it really hit me: straight girls really have no clue, not even a tiny hint, about what we curlies have gone through and go through. I also realized that in my circle of close girlfriends none have curly strands – there’s not even a wave among them! Maybe that’s why my curls had been such a struggle. The amazing friends who I rely on for terrific advice about everything from work to kids to fashion, couldn’t help me in the hair department!

The other strange thing about telling people I’m going curly are their reactions. Everybody – except one friend – thought it was a great idea. All of them said something along the lines of, “I love your curls.” I should have taken this as a compliment, but to me it was the equivalent of someone saying, “You lost weight.” Doesn’t that mean that you were fat before? And with that logic in mind, doesn’t it mean my friends didn’t like my hair straight? I know, I know, it doesn’t matter what people think and I’m trying to stay positive. Instead of thinking that my friends and family members loathed my poker straight locks, I’m thinking of these pals as my own curly strand cheering section. Rah, Rah!

“I miss seeing you.” That was the email I got from the amazing guy who straightens my hair, um, I mean, used to straighten it. I had emailed to tell him about an article I wrote that included him and that’s when he wrote back that he missed me. Little did he know how much I missed him—especially now that I have a halo of frizz sprouting from my head. I told him I hadn’t been to see him because I was “thinking of going back to curly.” (I used the word “thinking” because the commitment of being more definitive scared me.”> He responded by telling me about a new chemical treatment that just banishes frizz but keeps most of the curl. This was the equivalent of telling an alcoholic that they can have just one or two drinks. I was tempted, very tempted, rationalizing to myself that perhaps I could have it all. But deep down I know I have to go cold turkey and just let my natural hair grow back.

I’m trying to follow the advice of Devachan’s Lorraine Massey to “hydrate, hydrate, hydrate” and thanks to loads of conditioner and botanical gel, the frizz is getting better, but it’s still a startling sight. What’s funny is that in over six years of having straight hair, I never gave curly strands a second glance. In fact, I’d see them and feel elated that they weren’t mine. Now, I’m obsessed with them. Totally obsessed. No matter where I am—the subway, Starbucks, my kids’ school—I analyze the curls around me. “I hope my curls look like hers,” I think wistfully. “Yikes! What if mine look like hers?” I fret. “Boy, could that girl use some conditioner,” I tell myself. I also stand in the bathroom analyzing how much my curls have grown from one day to the next. I look at them as c’s that grow one on top of the other so I stand in the bathroom counting how many c’s I’ve got. In my just-below-the-shoulder-length hair, my virgin, curly hair reaches just the top of my ears (about three c’s worth”>. I also stand in the bathroom with my mirrored medicine cabinet open to just the exact position where I can see the back of my hair through a mirror on the wall. Underneath in the back my curls are sprouting, ready to bust out and I love lifting up the top canopy of my hair and checking it out. What amazes me is how in my loving-straight days those little twists and turns were the bain of my existence. Today, I light up when I notice that they’ve gotten just a millimeter longer.

Still, I’ve relegated my hair to a pony tail and at times hate its confused disposition—roots that are curly and ends that are straight. Since I’m working with Lorraine on her upcoming book, “Curly Girl 2,” she and I email dozens of times per day. Most of the time, those emails are about the book, but recently in a weak moment when I wanted to toss my ponytail holders and get my hair straightened I sent Lorraine an email that said, “I hate my hair.” Just like people going through Alcoholics Anonymous have sponsors, I view Lorraine as my curly sponsor. Her emails back encourage me to keep, well, curling. The other thing that really keeps me going is that I live close to one of her Devachan Salons. To go practically anywhere from my apartment, I have to pass it and I’m amazed—and in awe of—every curly head of hair I see walk out the salon doors. Seriously, no matter what shape or size a woman is, her curls look gorgeous, natural and effortless. As a result, my goal is constantly dangled in front of me and I know that if I just stick with it, I’ll get back to my curly roots.

I’m a naturally curly girl. There, I’ve said it! This may not sound major—especially on a site dedicated to curly hair—but it’s a fact I’ve denied for almost six years now. Like many curly girls, I grew up with hair I couldn’t handle, hair that had a mind of its own. It never looked like the shiny, silky hair I saw on TV or in magazines and how it looked was a barometer for my mood. So when I heard about Japanese straightening, I was intrigued. As a beauty writer, I’d done several articles on it before the light bulb went off that I should try it. And so I did. It wasn’t like me to do something so drastic but I didn’t care. I remember sitting in the stylist’s chair on that brisk October day as he ran his fingers through my hair. “Are you sure you’re ready for poker-straight strands?” he asked. “It may be flat at first.” Truth be told, I didn’t care if I looked like Marcia Brady. I couldn’t stand another day of frizz and fuzz, and as the mother of a one-year-old, I had no time or energy to spend on my curls. My straightening results were fabulous! Finally, I had shiny, soft strands that blew in the wind. Sure, they were flat, but they were straight. They didn’t frizz after the sweatiest workout or on the most humid day. I no longer cared if it rained. I thought I discovered Nirvana! I loved my straight hair so much that I didn’t care that my husband said he liked it better curly. (That’s love—of my hair!”> Every day was a good hair day and I got lots of compliments. I never thought I’d go back to curly.

Cut to six years later. It’s time to get my hair straightened again, but I just can’t do it and there are a few reasons why. First, I am tired of the flat, straight look. Second, I hate the feeling that the moment I step out of the salon after a straightening, the curly hair time clock is ticking. I constantly feel the back of my hair and get depressed when I feel little bumps of curls sprouting underneath my silky strands. Third, I’ve noticed some gray hairs and know that coloring and straightening is too much for my poor locks to handle. Lastly, I’m working with curl guru Lorraine Massey (co-owner of the Devachan Salons”> on her second book, “Curly Girl 2”. As a result, I’ve interviewed almost a hundred women who grew up hating their curls like I did, but who have finally learned to treat them right and actually say they love their hair. Yes, love. Imagine that! Armed with so much more knowledge than I had six years ago, I now know how to make my curls look good. Too bad I don’t have them anymore!

That brings me to the whole point of this blog. I’m going to document this journey of going straight. I know it’s not going to be easy. After all, I will spend the next year—or more!—with two textures of hair on my head. It’s also quite emotional. For example, the other day, I was getting ready for a work event and couldn’t stand how my schizo hair looked. Like a drug addict going through withdrawal, I was scrolling frantically through my Blackberry for the number of the salon where I get it straightened. When I found it, I slipped into the corner of the room and whispered about making an appointment because my husband—who was excited when I announced that I was going back to curly—was in the other room. I’m happy to say that I pushed past the straight-hair craving, canceled the appointment and am still on this journey. I know there will twists and turns (pun intended”> along the way, but I am ready!