The Southeastern Hair Expo of '96 and its Aftermath

For most of my sophomore year of high school, my hair looked just like it did in the picture to the right.

I've been known to experiment with my hair color. (I have been a red head, a Blondel  and a brunette in my time. The only color I've never dyed my hair is black. I worry that with my fair, fair complexion, I'd end up with too much of a Snow White thing going on.) But, I didn't mess with the style too much before my sophomore year. I liked a nice heavy bang with a strong curl-under on the ends. It was the mid-1990's and such a bold look was not at all uncommon. 

Then, one day, my friend Susan had a proposition for me: "Hey Laurel, how would you like to be a model in a hair show?"

Of course, it was the word "model" that hooked me. I didn't care about the context, I just wanted to be able to say that I "had modeled" at some point in my life.

"All of our hair services will be free. It'll be like getting a makeover."

As if the model part wasn't good enough, Susan offered my adolescent self her other dream -- a makeover, otherwise known as the promise of change. With that, I was done for. I sold my soul -- or, at least, my somewhat normal tresses -- for a chance to "model" in the 1996 Southeastern Hair Show held at the Birmingham Jefferson Convention Complex.

About a week later, on a Friday, Susan and I went down for our beauty consultations before the big event. I was told they would be turning me into a red head and giving me a "body treatment" to help my limp locks plump up. I thought it sounded like fun.

It wasn't until that Saturday when I was having my hair shampooed by a chain-smoking platinum blond with acrylic nails in a portable sink in the basement of the BJCC that I realized what I was really in for. As soon as the "body treatment" began, I recognized a certain odor from my childhood.

"Am I getting a perm?" I asked.

"What's that baby doll?" platinum blond said in between puffs and after interrupting a conversation about her gay ex-husband's struggle to find himself.

"Are you giving me a perm? I thought I was having a body treatment."

"It's the same thing, baby. Don't worry though, this won't be one of those '80s perms. The technology's gotten so much better."

And so it began. (We all know how great my hair looks with a permanent. This is also the short version of how I showed up to my cousin's wedding with purple hair -- a fact my mother has never forgotten.)

Still, from the photo above, you can see that despite my whore-like makeup, my hair was still somewhat normal after Saturday's dye job and perm. Even if it wasn't normal, it was salvageable. But, that was all before Sunday's main Southeastern Hair Expo event -- the spectacle I didn't know was going to happen until that very morning.

I was going to have my hair cut on stage.

With no mirrors in sight, I was pulled into a chair, on stage, in front of about 30 hair dressers there to "hone their craft." All I'd gotten to say before I was pulled on stage was, "You're not going to cut my hair too short, are you?"

"Not TOO short," was the only answer I got from a woman I'd barely seen before who clearly did not consider my adolescent insecurities as part of her vision of what her role in the Southeastern Hair Expo should be.

 My hair was cut in 15 minutes. I then had to walk around the room with a Polaroid of my "before" picture while strange women could touch and investigate my hair cut. Nearly 50 people had seen what was on my head before I had a chance to run to the bathroom and check myself out in the mirror.

I was not happy with what I saw. (This picture was actually taken before I'd seen myself --hence the smile.)

I ran from the bathroom, out of the BJCC, to my car, where I cried for 20 minutes before I thought I could even see well enough to drive. What had been shoulder-length brown hair was now a short, bright read mushroom-like explosion on the top of my head.

I knew that not only did I have a terrible new hair cut, but I also hadan incredibly noticeable new hair cut that would have to be explainedor, at least, gawked at by everyone within a 100-yard radius.

"What's that?" is all I could imagine hearing for the next six weeks.

I was so upset, I had to drive to my best friend's house to have the courage to go to school the next day. If she hadn't said it "wasn't too terrible," I don't think I could have made it.

That Monday back at school wasn't pleasant. There were some snickers -- including some from the boy I thought hung the moon. But there was a lot more sympathy than scorn. 

The Southeastern Hair Expo wasn't the makeover I had hoped for. (A true example of why you should be careful what you wish for.) But I learned that sometimes a good story and the right attitude can make up for other foibles.  

I also learned that, most of the time, hair grows back. And despite the way I felt about my hair cut, I tried to keep it out of how I felt about myself.

Even though I still had a red mushroom-type explosion on top of my head, the smile in that last photo is real.