Hi Everyone,

Do you even know what your hair is anymore? 

After decades of blow-drying and pulling and stretching and coloring and perming  . . . how could anyone know?

Years ago I had a long talk with my hair.  I made a very strong case, but it simply refused to listen. The battle lines were drawn.  My hair wanted to be curly, and me?  Nope.  It was 1969 — a year full of rebellions — and I had to look like a Mamma from the Mammas and the Pappas– straight hair, parted down the middle.  Hello, orange juice cans and Dippity Do.

Until the 1970s when I discovered the Farrah Fawcett look and the blow-dryer, all in the same year. 

The 80s .  .  . well, let’s just forget about the 80s.

In the 90s, my hair had to be blow-dried and ironed straight and sleek by the latest hot stylist.  Rain?  I stayed in.  Humidity?  Baseball cap. 

Well, I won the war, but lost the battle. As I entered my 50s, I no longer had hair.  I had road kill.

After alot of digging, I finally found the solution — letting my hair be what it was meant to be.  No more blow-drying (unless I’m in a terrible rush and it’s 32 degrees or colder), and alot less shampoo (especially shampoo with sulfates). 

Try it.

Best of Everything,