PARTINGS ARE SWEET
I remember as a child that there were quite strict rules about hair partings. Left side for boys and right for girls. Of course there was always the centre parting - and plaits - there were rather a lot of plaits when I was a child, and none of them on boys. I remember tugging plaits in a mindless way - because they were there I suppose. I had a bow. Several bows, in fact an endless supply of bows that were attached to the top of my head in a mortifying manner. Some small girls liked their bows and wore them with pride. I loathed mine and it responded limply and it disappeared into my satchel swiftly as soon as I was out of sight of the house on the way to school. My beret met the same fate and my black hat that was worn in winter was transformed into a pork pie hat like a bluesman from New Orleans which happily wrecked the original shape of the thing.
Now I see an engaging lack of conformity in headgear, who had ever heard of fascinators? Not me until I hit Waterloo station during Ascot week one year and spotted women trotting about with absurd things on their nuts. They seem and look quite agreeable once you get used to the idea that they have no practical function whatsoever and that they are purely for adornment, idiotic but fun.
Hair too takes on totally new dimensions I go to the local chemist shop and this week I had to wait rather a long time for the medication that I gull every day in my bid for immortality. This shop is centre of the universe in my area for extensions and wigs and they do a bustling trade. I watched as women of all races came and matched their extensions to their natural hair. I peered over shoulders to see how exactly they attach them and it seems like a complex affair of clips. The wigs are wonderful in deep red or with hints of auburn or just plain black and a variety of blondes quite staggering in variety. I am thinking of splitting my prescription so I can hang out longer and more often at this hair emporium. Unfortunately there is a private room for the trying on of wigs but the women emerge to parade their new manifestations of self and it is all dramatic stuff.
My doctor's receptionist has a variety of amazing wigs which mystified me until I realised they had nothing at all to do with her except possession. And she has been accepting my compliments on her hair graciously for years. I was miffed at first but I suppose it proves her excellent taste. And what a liberation! I remember being subjected to the Toni perm, tongs, rollers and hairnets in turn in my bids for beauty.
I think I may buy a fascinator one day - for my friend.
- Gabby
- Southampton/Greenwich, United Kingdom
- Loud woman is just one of the manifestations of Gabby/Mo Foster.She is the one at the bus stop complaining when the rest of us don't dare, or care. She is the one in the pub who laughs at men, buys her own drink and refuses to be intimidated.She claims and inhabits her own space ( and sometimes your space too) she is lairy opinionated and insists on beng heard. She often talks sense. Loud woamn is inappropriate and entirely appropriate She marches for her rights and your rights even when you don't know you want them She is nuisance and joy Her mouth is her weapon. Mo always tries to remember that she is a Loud woman. She is also a published novelist and her second novel is due to emerge this year. She has had short plays produced professionally and poetry published. She sometimes reads her menopausal punk poetry in public.
That did make me smile, indeed! You know I bought one of those hair extension thingies for £5 in Peacocks. But it's all the clips and gubbins that you need to keep it on so have never worn it yet. If you pick up any tips from the hair emporium let me know.
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