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Above: another pissed carnival toy.
Below: another bedtime story- just for you.
Old skool
When: Long ago and far away in a mythical time called “the eighties”.
Who: Me. I was still young and cute… well… young anyway- and back then my future was still so bright… I had to wear shades. During the day, I had the look down. You could spot me in a long “bleached denim” trench coat. An oversized camo shirt with “tails”. Reeboks. Leather pants. And, just to complete the style, “leg warmers”. But at night, I wore a long fur coat of mink… even in the summertime. I carried something called a “Walkman”. I forget why. This being the eighties, however, the definitive statement was “big hair”. And I had this big hair. Yes I did. When I was very young, I had “good hair” as my mother put it. Then I hit “puberty” and the “texture” changed. It got “kinky”. Yes, I had the kinky, out-of-control hair. I was so ashamed.
Back in the eighties, when you had kinky hair, you went to a “salon” and got it “processed”. Not necessarily “relaxed” or “straightened” mind you. By process, I mean I got a “jerry curl”. Because that’s what you did in the eighties. Ok, that’s what I did in the eighties. For you young ones, that means “conditioning” the hair, inserting “curling rods” and applying “activating chemicals”. The kinks were forced into “permanent” curls and “waves” and they put grease and oil and gel and who knows what else in there to “hold” it all in place. I fondly remember my first process. When I first looked into the mirror and saw my new jerry curl, it was love at first sight. It all came into place. The angels were smiling upon me that day. It all could have gone so wrong, but it all went so right. I left the salon and I knew I looked “fierce”. And I was riding in my Cooper’s Limousine. (Don’t you want to ride?)
I got home and I played with it for hours. I really should have let it “rest”, but I couldn’t help myself. The curl was a little tight, but in a few weeks, it relaxed and it really looked “fresh”. Every day I would wake up and go to the mirror and “piece” my hair out. This was to separate the curls and “volumize” them, you see. To do this, I employed a large green pic to “tease” the curls apart. My hair had length, and I would “lift” or free one curl from the tangle and raise it up over my head using the pic. With my free hand I would grab the bottle of “activator” and “spritz” the piece. And spritz it again… and again… and once more… maybe a little more… you know, until the curl “activated”. Then I would put that curl aside and move on to the next one. I would move systematically, little by little until every curl was teased. Now I would usually start from the top and work my way down- lifting, teasing, poking, prodding, pushing, cajoling, arranging and rearranging that hair until it was tamed. The back of my head was always a challenge. The curls would “flatten” and no longer “respond”. I would “scrunch” it to get a little hint of the curl. Near the end of all this, I would tease out one little curl and let it fall over my face- you know like Michael Jackson. Yes. I did this. And I loved it, because it’s dangerous.
My hair never fell in quite the same way. There were good hair days and bad hair days. Sometimes that one little curl fell on my face just right- like a gift from heaven. Sometimes I would fuss with it for ten minutes as I moved from mirror to mirror trying to get ready to go. Sometimes I gave up and pushed it back into the nether regions from whence it came. If it was a special day, I would, somehow, do all of this hanging upside down in order to maximize the volume.
I would let it relax on my day off and I would even give it an “Alberto V05” oil treatment- you know- for “split ends” and “frizzies”. Yes, I actually had the time to care about such things. Long ago. Far away. For an evening out, when I wanted to look really “fly”, I even had a shaker of gold glitter. I would “dust” the curls with it. Just for that extra “sparkle”-like Rick James. Yes, I really did this. As my jerry curl “grew out”, I made it more dramatic by adding a “fade”. This involved “buzz cutting” one side of my scalp from ear to temple and maybe getting some “cuts” or lines shaved in to make a little design. It was high maintenance, but that’s what I was. Everywhere I went, I had my pic and my activator. Every night I wore a shower cap to bed. I always had the next appointment booked at the salon. That was long ago. Far away.
Yes I loved my jerry curl. No one else did. People laughed and snickered at the way I looked everywhere I went. Even in the eighties. My grandmother disowned me. I didn’t give a fuck. They were all just jealous bitches wishing they could be me. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
Then the nineties came in. Suddenly some tramp named Jennifer Lopez was gyrating half naked in a video screeching “if you had my love” and her hair… oh my god… her hair was straight as a stick. I didn’t know it was possible for a human being to have such straight hair. How the hell did she get it pressed so straight? No one before or since has had such straight hair. Not even Jennifer Lopez. It was demonic. But people, out of morbid curiosity, copied it anyway. The perm was dead. So was big hair. The "natural" look was in. I turned in my activator. Maybe it was "liberating", but it was also boring as hell. It was as if people were hiding in plain sight. The magic was gone. I waited and waited for it to come back, but it didn’t. It was years and years before the Kardashians single-handedly brought curls and weaves and big hair back. Now we have GaGa, Minaj, Cyrus- giving us fun hair again!
It came too late for me. I’m old, grey, and have about three hairs left on my head. Heredity is a bitch. The worst part: I spend more time fussing with those three hairs than I ever did with my jerry curl. The irony is the less hair you have, the more attention you have to give to what’s left of it. It never looks good no matter what I do. I would like to shave it, but I’m at that stage where I’m not sure if it will help or harm me. I still have my bleached denim trench coat, too. But I would have to be dead for six weeks in order to fit into it again. People may have thought I looked silly back then, but I would give anything to have those days back. I have seen the future… and it sucks.
Love, D-
Below: another bedtime story- just for you.
Old skool
When: Long ago and far away in a mythical time called “the eighties”.
Who: Me. I was still young and cute… well… young anyway- and back then my future was still so bright… I had to wear shades. During the day, I had the look down. You could spot me in a long “bleached denim” trench coat. An oversized camo shirt with “tails”. Reeboks. Leather pants. And, just to complete the style, “leg warmers”. But at night, I wore a long fur coat of mink… even in the summertime. I carried something called a “Walkman”. I forget why. This being the eighties, however, the definitive statement was “big hair”. And I had this big hair. Yes I did. When I was very young, I had “good hair” as my mother put it. Then I hit “puberty” and the “texture” changed. It got “kinky”. Yes, I had the kinky, out-of-control hair. I was so ashamed.
Back in the eighties, when you had kinky hair, you went to a “salon” and got it “processed”. Not necessarily “relaxed” or “straightened” mind you. By process, I mean I got a “jerry curl”. Because that’s what you did in the eighties. Ok, that’s what I did in the eighties. For you young ones, that means “conditioning” the hair, inserting “curling rods” and applying “activating chemicals”. The kinks were forced into “permanent” curls and “waves” and they put grease and oil and gel and who knows what else in there to “hold” it all in place. I fondly remember my first process. When I first looked into the mirror and saw my new jerry curl, it was love at first sight. It all came into place. The angels were smiling upon me that day. It all could have gone so wrong, but it all went so right. I left the salon and I knew I looked “fierce”. And I was riding in my Cooper’s Limousine. (Don’t you want to ride?)
I got home and I played with it for hours. I really should have let it “rest”, but I couldn’t help myself. The curl was a little tight, but in a few weeks, it relaxed and it really looked “fresh”. Every day I would wake up and go to the mirror and “piece” my hair out. This was to separate the curls and “volumize” them, you see. To do this, I employed a large green pic to “tease” the curls apart. My hair had length, and I would “lift” or free one curl from the tangle and raise it up over my head using the pic. With my free hand I would grab the bottle of “activator” and “spritz” the piece. And spritz it again… and again… and once more… maybe a little more… you know, until the curl “activated”. Then I would put that curl aside and move on to the next one. I would move systematically, little by little until every curl was teased. Now I would usually start from the top and work my way down- lifting, teasing, poking, prodding, pushing, cajoling, arranging and rearranging that hair until it was tamed. The back of my head was always a challenge. The curls would “flatten” and no longer “respond”. I would “scrunch” it to get a little hint of the curl. Near the end of all this, I would tease out one little curl and let it fall over my face- you know like Michael Jackson. Yes. I did this. And I loved it, because it’s dangerous.
My hair never fell in quite the same way. There were good hair days and bad hair days. Sometimes that one little curl fell on my face just right- like a gift from heaven. Sometimes I would fuss with it for ten minutes as I moved from mirror to mirror trying to get ready to go. Sometimes I gave up and pushed it back into the nether regions from whence it came. If it was a special day, I would, somehow, do all of this hanging upside down in order to maximize the volume.
I would let it relax on my day off and I would even give it an “Alberto V05” oil treatment- you know- for “split ends” and “frizzies”. Yes, I actually had the time to care about such things. Long ago. Far away. For an evening out, when I wanted to look really “fly”, I even had a shaker of gold glitter. I would “dust” the curls with it. Just for that extra “sparkle”-like Rick James. Yes, I really did this. As my jerry curl “grew out”, I made it more dramatic by adding a “fade”. This involved “buzz cutting” one side of my scalp from ear to temple and maybe getting some “cuts” or lines shaved in to make a little design. It was high maintenance, but that’s what I was. Everywhere I went, I had my pic and my activator. Every night I wore a shower cap to bed. I always had the next appointment booked at the salon. That was long ago. Far away.
Yes I loved my jerry curl. No one else did. People laughed and snickered at the way I looked everywhere I went. Even in the eighties. My grandmother disowned me. I didn’t give a fuck. They were all just jealous bitches wishing they could be me. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
Then the nineties came in. Suddenly some tramp named Jennifer Lopez was gyrating half naked in a video screeching “if you had my love” and her hair… oh my god… her hair was straight as a stick. I didn’t know it was possible for a human being to have such straight hair. How the hell did she get it pressed so straight? No one before or since has had such straight hair. Not even Jennifer Lopez. It was demonic. But people, out of morbid curiosity, copied it anyway. The perm was dead. So was big hair. The "natural" look was in. I turned in my activator. Maybe it was "liberating", but it was also boring as hell. It was as if people were hiding in plain sight. The magic was gone. I waited and waited for it to come back, but it didn’t. It was years and years before the Kardashians single-handedly brought curls and weaves and big hair back. Now we have GaGa, Minaj, Cyrus- giving us fun hair again!
It came too late for me. I’m old, grey, and have about three hairs left on my head. Heredity is a bitch. The worst part: I spend more time fussing with those three hairs than I ever did with my jerry curl. The irony is the less hair you have, the more attention you have to give to what’s left of it. It never looks good no matter what I do. I would like to shave it, but I’m at that stage where I’m not sure if it will help or harm me. I still have my bleached denim trench coat, too. But I would have to be dead for six weeks in order to fit into it again. People may have thought I looked silly back then, but I would give anything to have those days back. I have seen the future… and it sucks.
Love, D-
Category Story / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 475 x 715px
File Size 119.9 kB
All I know about the 80s is that there is Synthwave played in the background no matter what, and all buildings are in neon-color and there are many highways where shiny over-perfect looking cars with neon cars drive (and then fly) at the speed of light. Oh and its an alternative world where high-tech low-life cyberpunk arises and skyscrappers hit the skies. Oh and Tokyo was called Neo-Tokyo, and Japan was together with Miami the most advanced places on earth where all highways were coloured in neon and the crimewave was very active, where detectives and cyber-cops fight crime with a special assortment of laser weaponry, and automatic and semi-automatic railguns. Thats how I know it, anyway.
Ah yes, the Eighties.......
Cheap gas, spending vast sums of money (at least I thought so at the time) at the video game arcade, CB Radio, Cassette tapes, massive analog stereo systems...........those were the days!
I was pretty back then too, and I often wish I had come out of the closet back then. But, the fear of AIDS was still fresh in everyone's minds. Still, I managed to find fun where I could. It was a time of growth and discovery for me
Cheap gas, spending vast sums of money (at least I thought so at the time) at the video game arcade, CB Radio, Cassette tapes, massive analog stereo systems...........those were the days!
I was pretty back then too, and I often wish I had come out of the closet back then. But, the fear of AIDS was still fresh in everyone's minds. Still, I managed to find fun where I could. It was a time of growth and discovery for me
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