As I’m talking to you now, I’m in New York, seated cross legged on my bed, a nice cup of tea on one leg, my computer on the other, a pack of M&Ms balanced between the two because you gotta have M&Ms and MY HAIR AS STRAIGHT AS BAGUETTES and I can’t stop touching it, oh man John Galliano would be jealous. And so shiny I can see my own reflection oh yeah I love myself so much.
Girls, girrrrrllllllllls, I did it!!! I spent FIVE HOURS AT THE HAIR SALON* and I’m so proud!!!
I played hooky on the first day of New York fashion week. Such a disgrace. Official reason: the blizzard had the whole city on high alert. Official-er reason: I had to try the thing that you all told me about: the Brazilian Blow Out, that thing that gave you all the hair of your dreams. Wow. Brazilian Blow Out. BBO, yep. Okay, so the name blows a little.
I’ll tell you more about it in detail on Monday, seeing as Monday will be the day we’ll see the final result. Because while we’re waiting for the result, that is to say, hair in perfect health, completely rejuvenated, and WITH THE PERFECT WAVE WITHOUT ANY WORK** for at least 6 months, my hair is so straight that I look like Cher when she was with Sony and it ISN’T ALLOWED A SINGLE DROP OF MOISTURE.
And as much as the BBO costs, if I don’t take a shower until Sunday*** as to not get my hair wet, don’t blame me, ok? And if you see something pass by under piles of New York snow, a frightening shadow with a hat + big hood + scarf + umbrella blindly following around her man since she can’t see anything with all her armor so that “NOT A DROP OF WATER COMES UNDER MY HAT *%##[email protected]!!!” no need to look any further, yep, it’s me.
And besides that, no way you’re curious how I’m braving the winter storm in my high heels, but I’ll tell you anyway: I bought a pair of shoes WITHOUT HEELS, and that was not without a little heartache. As I’m writing to you, I see them there. They’re sitting on my desk (all my new shoes spend their first nights displayed so I can see ’em.) (Yeah, I know, I’m a trip.), totally disgusting and cool at the same time. We may or may not talk about them again.
So there you have it. I’ll let you go. I have to get rid of the last of my jet lag and officially declare New York fashion week open for business and not go to a party (no way that could happen. Can you imagine if some champagne found its way into my hair. I think I would have a vasovagal episode.) But at the same time, there are times when I feel like my life is becoming a perpetual fashion week. You get that impression sometimes? It’s a little weird, no?
—–> Oh man. No way we can let that little question sidetrack us from the subject du jour, the awesomeness of life, the fact that I spent FIVE hours at the hair salon instead of working and loved it and the idea that I’ll perhaps attain in February one of my goals for the year: have perfect hair. We’ll see on Monday.
C’mon, no fair, Garance! So much suspense!
Merde et voilà bravo. So stressed I finished all my M&Ms.
*And now I’ve got material for the blog for the next 5 years.
** With my curly hair, this represents the UD: Ultimate Dream. To have hair WITH THE PERFECT WAVE WITHOUT TOO MUCH ADO, it’ll be a sign that I’ve succeeded in life. That and finding the perfect feminine flats.
*** Americans like showering with the water coming down on your head. Those giant spouts attached up top. The little handheld ones, they’ve never heard of. So if you don’t want to get your hair wet, you gotta wear a shower cap. Hello weirdo, when you’re man breaks and enters his way into the bathroom and you look like Mamie Nova. And then on top of that, a shower cap doesn’t work at all, it’s useless in less than a minute with the humidity. And so yeah, I understand myself. And I’m sure all the girls getting their hair straightened, they get where I’m coming from too.
Translation : Tim Sullivan