Mad Hair Days

Those were the days. When big hair was the rule rather than the exception. When female crowns rose to dizzying heights they could have sent hairsprays to the endangered list. When teasing reigned supreme anywhere in the world, pushing past the confines of moviedom and catwalks, enslaving ordinary mortals like, well, my mom.


It was the 1960s, fresh out of the bouffant and beehive movements of the 50s and my mother, true blue fashionista that she was, made sure that her clothes—including her hair—always kept up with the times. The mountainous puff on top of her head was elevated enough to require maybe half a day of prep work. But my mother, the college instructress, must have been very talented with the teasing comb she fixed her tresses that way even during ordinary school days and still managed to come to class on time.


By the late 60s, my mother had not let go of her favorite comb. The towering hair was gone, replaced by a short bob. But the teasing did not stop.


Some decades later when she was into her 50s, my mother's crowning glory had been relegated to a wash-and-wear style—cropped, cut to reveal her natural curls and dyed a dark shade of brown typical of ladies of a certain age—signaling the close of a hair-raising era long gone.