Really! I am very leery of clicking on enticing offers at the bottom of things I chose to read. Often they are very tedious, occasionally disappointing, and rarely even result in locking up my browser. But this one grabbed me, as I wanted to vet my lifetime basic hairstyle. As you may not know, my hair went from straight and manageable to frizzy and wavy when I hit puberty (whence came all manner of suffering). As an added affront, this was the age of the California surfer girl who not only was everything I was not, but also sported long straight tresses which were suddenly off my menu of possibilities.
This occurred before high school: in time to ruin my 8th grade school photo. (Which I half-heartedly looked for just now. Sorry.) So, in my Freshman year of H.S. (there were 8 years of Elem.) I decided I could transform myself and blend into a larger group that had no preconceived notions of my former hideousness. I let my frizzy mop grow to enable wearing frozen juice-can sized curlers with frizz- taming Di-pity-Do* every night. How I slept on those I can no longer account for. But I have razor sharp clarity about the morning results: When I combed out my hair it was straight-ish, that lasted until Portland's humidity gained access, and then I spent the day with a huge "bouffant" of frizzy waves. It was a look that to this day has not been purposefully attained by anyone ever photographed for posterity.
I forgot to mention how my attempt to be "a part of" and date came off the rails. Amazingly, I was voted "prettiest" girl in my home room. This was without precedent and consequent. But it scored me an invitation to a high school football game by a boy who played in the band from the bleachers. Of course I accepted in spite of my complete dis-interest, bordering on vengeful toward that sport.
At the game, he sat at the side of a row of horn players, so I could sit next to him. We were able to talk a bit (I have no memories of this, nor his name) but this I remember: he interrupted me to say he needed to warm up his lips (I swooned). He then proceeded to blow air noisily through his lips. Our connection was brief, devoid of physical contact, shared interests or conversation. I was relieved when he announced it was not what he expected, and dropped me. But I was also puzzled. It may be that he had wanted to proceed around the bases (so to speak) with me, but was unclear that it was HIS job to initiate. Sufficient female sexual liberation for teens was likely decades away. I never had another date until college: when the available pool got much bigger, and a bit more varied. <sigh> It JUST now occurred to me that perhaps he found me a bit too conversational. Again: <sigh>
Oops! I got so caught up in my tortured past that I forgot the click bait. My "style" was not included! I shall continue to let my hair do what it wants (except grow longer). This link will take you to "30 Women's Hairstyles to Ditch this Year": https://tinyurl.com/y65r35ph
*My spell check gave me Di-pity-do. The product was actually Dippity Do. But I appreciate my spell checker pointing out that "pity" was appropriate for my styling fiasco.