Since it is possible to love someone too much (all of my musician ex-boyfriends, for example) does it stand to reason that I could love something too much? Specifically, I'm talking about my hair conditioner. My extra fabulous Bumble&bumble Super Rich Conditioner to be super specific. To be blunt, I do actually rule the world for two days after I condition.
Maybe it's best that I provide a bit of background before I launch into my tale of conditional love. You see, I have what is known in the beauty industry as "naturally curly" hair. You know, the kind that every girl thinks she wants because she doesn't know that you can brush it only once a week because it takes 30 minutes, that it clogs up drains faster than a showerful of wooly mammoths and that if you don't get haircuts from curly hair experts you'll leave the salon looking like that guy from REO Speedwagon.
After a particularly bad haircut in ninth grade, my then boyfriend told me that I looked like I had three dead muskrats tied by their tails stapled to the top of my head. (He was the first in a series of charmers.)My hair experiments since then have ranged from shaved a la Sinead to the dreadful dreads. Blond to maroon and back again. Short then long then longer still. And all without the full appreciation of my latent potential for hair power. That is, until I met the hair conditioner of my most out-of-the-question Farrah Fawcett fantasies. And since then I've conditioned with abandon and lathered without labor. Had I discovered this conditioner in my twenties, I feel sure I would have succeeded as a hair model. And God knows that would have been a lot easier than driving a fork lift, working at that restaurant or ten years as a spa whore. My point is this: for certain hair types an effective conditioner is a necessity. And those of us who know this are loathe to give up their new found hair fabulousness. And this is when the problem can begin.
Those who have discovered a truly great recipe for hair conditioner know full well that girls with snarlylocks will pay big bucks. And I do. I am ashamed to admit how much it costs to use this hair conditioner. We're talking high-level diva. We're talking J-Lo. Or Diana Ross. We're talking way, way overbudget for a girl who shops at Goodwill and drives a hoopdee. I truly cannot afford this product, and yet my need for it beckons so strongly that I've done without oil changes and regular check-ups to ensure that my locks don't go looking for luster elsewhere. Obviously, skipping a teeth cleaning isn't a permanent solution. Neither is disrespecting my credit card. But I'd rather eat mac-n-cheese for six months than be damned to Fuzzy Hair Hell once again. And you see that the problem deepens.
First, I admitted that I was powerless. That my life (and my hair) had become unmanageable. Then, after taking a fearless moral inventory of my hair products, I decided to experiment with some health food store brands. Lavender-scented poodle was not what I had in mind. Then I tried some cheaper, but promising beauty store brands. That was like a mouthful of ice milk after two years of Hagen-Daz. Sure, my hair was clean, but the overall effect was "blah" when I had become accustomed to "Ooh la la!" A hair power demotion just doesn't seem fair even if I do actually stress out about where the next bottle is going to come from. My cousin bought me some for my birthday once. And I do buy it in the economy size, which costs just a little less than a nice dinner for two -- with wine.
A friend of mine suggested that I write about my addiction and then send it to the company for review. A love note, if you will. I'm not going to do that. That would be shameless pandering. My compliments would be seen as a transparent request for free product. (Not like a lifetime supply or anything though.) I won't whore myself for Bumble&bumble, no matter how silky, sexy and supple my inner most locks have come to be. But if someone reading this were to forward this post to bumbleandbumble.com, well, that would be totally beyond my control. Much like my devotion to their product.
Maybe it's best that I provide a bit of background before I launch into my tale of conditional love. You see, I have what is known in the beauty industry as "naturally curly" hair. You know, the kind that every girl thinks she wants because she doesn't know that you can brush it only once a week because it takes 30 minutes, that it clogs up drains faster than a showerful of wooly mammoths and that if you don't get haircuts from curly hair experts you'll leave the salon looking like that guy from REO Speedwagon.
After a particularly bad haircut in ninth grade, my then boyfriend told me that I looked like I had three dead muskrats tied by their tails stapled to the top of my head. (He was the first in a series of charmers.)My hair experiments since then have ranged from shaved a la Sinead to the dreadful dreads. Blond to maroon and back again. Short then long then longer still. And all without the full appreciation of my latent potential for hair power. That is, until I met the hair conditioner of my most out-of-the-question Farrah Fawcett fantasies. And since then I've conditioned with abandon and lathered without labor. Had I discovered this conditioner in my twenties, I feel sure I would have succeeded as a hair model. And God knows that would have been a lot easier than driving a fork lift, working at that restaurant or ten years as a spa whore. My point is this: for certain hair types an effective conditioner is a necessity. And those of us who know this are loathe to give up their new found hair fabulousness. And this is when the problem can begin.
Those who have discovered a truly great recipe for hair conditioner know full well that girls with snarlylocks will pay big bucks. And I do. I am ashamed to admit how much it costs to use this hair conditioner. We're talking high-level diva. We're talking J-Lo. Or Diana Ross. We're talking way, way overbudget for a girl who shops at Goodwill and drives a hoopdee. I truly cannot afford this product, and yet my need for it beckons so strongly that I've done without oil changes and regular check-ups to ensure that my locks don't go looking for luster elsewhere. Obviously, skipping a teeth cleaning isn't a permanent solution. Neither is disrespecting my credit card. But I'd rather eat mac-n-cheese for six months than be damned to Fuzzy Hair Hell once again. And you see that the problem deepens.
First, I admitted that I was powerless. That my life (and my hair) had become unmanageable. Then, after taking a fearless moral inventory of my hair products, I decided to experiment with some health food store brands. Lavender-scented poodle was not what I had in mind. Then I tried some cheaper, but promising beauty store brands. That was like a mouthful of ice milk after two years of Hagen-Daz. Sure, my hair was clean, but the overall effect was "blah" when I had become accustomed to "Ooh la la!" A hair power demotion just doesn't seem fair even if I do actually stress out about where the next bottle is going to come from. My cousin bought me some for my birthday once. And I do buy it in the economy size, which costs just a little less than a nice dinner for two -- with wine.
A friend of mine suggested that I write about my addiction and then send it to the company for review. A love note, if you will. I'm not going to do that. That would be shameless pandering. My compliments would be seen as a transparent request for free product. (Not like a lifetime supply or anything though.) I won't whore myself for Bumble&bumble, no matter how silky, sexy and supple my inner most locks have come to be. But if someone reading this were to forward this post to bumbleandbumble.com, well, that would be totally beyond my control. Much like my devotion to their product.
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