Just go to the coffee shop naked. No one will notice your hair.

I considered it. I really did.

I’m pretty sure I have never had a “good” hair day. My hair is neither long nor short, it is neither light nor dark, it is neither straight nor curly. After years of just being blah my hair has given up. It has decided simply to leave me.

So as my chin hairs grow thicker and glossier with each passing day my head hair is following a pattern baldness that makes me question (once again) the level of testosterone in my body. Except it is not really a question. The level is high. High testosterone provides both beard and balding. But at least I can avoid the side effects of those medicines designed to combat low T.

I stood looking into the mirror preparing for my big morning at the coffee shop. I adjusted what might be called a lock of hair on another woman and tried to arrange it in a vague version of a comb-over. My hair was a bit oily. This was not a problem but an opportunity. I had recently purchased my second attempt at a dry shampoo. What better time to try than right now.

The dry shampoo I had in Denver was a powder that I shook onto my head from a bottle like baby powder (which, btw, is now on the list of cancer causing personal products.) This shaking resulted in as much powder on the floor and my clothes as in my hair. The powder that did go in my hair was, not surprisingly, white. When I brushed it through from scalp to ends as instructed I ended up like I was wearing a George Washington wig. So I resembled a woman posing as a man with fake women’s hair. It looked as good as it sounded. After the first attempt at the powder shampoo necessitated an outfit change I got smart and applied the shampoo before I got dressed. That resulted in so much powder on my body that I had to shower to get it off. So I washed my hair. All told the dry shampoo did in fact result in clean hair so I would have to say it worked.

I am sorry to say I forgot this magical product at home. What did I do? Find a quality replacement. Slowly browsing the large collection in the salon (don’t worry it was for Leo, I have been cutting my own hair for 8 years) I opted for a spray version. F the ozone layer. The water I was saving by not showering probably netted out as much environmental benefit as cost. Plus I think they might have fixed those spray cans by now. Truth?

So I stripped down as one does before using dry shampoo. Sure the shower was a six inches away but was I going to be bothered with all that waiting and water and washing and rinsing and then repeating and then drying? Hell no. I had the perfect product for my needs. I gave a tentative spray. It hit my cheek. At least it was the cheek on my face. On my second try I did reach my temple. It was a religious experience. Then I sprayed the other temple. First try! I am super good at this. I paused then decided the top of my head was thinning AND greasy so it deserved a spray too. Done. I waited. Things seemed oddly sticky. Probably I hadn’t used enough. I lifted the can again and instead of short bursts I channeled the ladies taking their beehive hairdos from cotton candy to helmet strength. On I sprayed. Mostly on my head.

I stopped. Things felt oddly cold and wet. Wait that was just Apollo nosing my feet to try get a sample of the shampoo. Not tasty. The hair too seemed weird. It was as sticky as Leo’s slime.

So naked, hair both oily and sticky I weighed my options. Shower or go to the coffee shop naked?

There of course is another option. I could pick yesterday’s clothes from the laundry basket and head to the coffee shop a bit rumpled and look pretty much the same as any other day despite my efforts at beauty.

So dressed and coiffed I headed in to town. The crowd of people were impressed at my dedication.

On a totally unrelated note “No Poo” is in fact an entire line of products. Not just dry shampoo. It features hair spray and curling product. Designed to be used on wet hair. Not that I would have any reason to know that.

The following two tabs change content below.
Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble, Parent.co, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at annarosenblumpalmer.com.