09/02/2014 05:31 pm ET Updated Dec 06, 2017

I Need To Do Something With My Hair

It's that time of the year again. No, not back to school, pumpkin latte or football season. This is about my hair. My husband likes to say he's slept with a blonde, brunette AND redhead, and they are all me.

I think most women find an excuse to hate everything about themselves; it's been put into our minds since we were young. Too fat, too skinny, too many wrinkles; the list goes on and on. But our hair! That is the one thing we can control at our whim. And boy, have I! My hair is the only part of my body that I love unconditionally.

When I was a young child, I always had short hair. My mom hated the fact that I was a tomboy and my head was always wet from sweat. Her solution was to put a bowl on my head and cut my hair. Great, so now I really looked like a boy. When puberty started and my buds started sprouting, many a second glance was thrown my way.


When I was old enough to stop the bowl cutting madness, I decided to grow my hair as long possible which explains why for most of high school I looked like I was ready to go to Woodstock. Granted it was the '70s, so cut me some slack.


And then for some crazy reason I decided I needed a perm. Maybe I felt I didn't look Jewish enough. Maybe I felt why fight the frizz every time it was humid out? The perm phase was the only hair regret I ever had. My hair couldn't grow out fast enough.


While planning my nuptials, after having it long for so many years, I decided I needed to look like Dorothy Hamill. There I was on my wedding day with flowers in my hair looking like I was ready to skate into the Olympics.


Sometime in the late '80s my husband and I decided to move to Los Angeles, so of course I dyed my hair white blonde. I was planning to look like a California Girl as described by the Beach Boys. Of course there was no mistaking me for a California Girl when I opened my mouth and straight up Brooklyn poured out.


When I got pregnant I couldn't dye my hair anymore, so I let it grow out along with my ever-expanding belly. One of the greatest things about being pregnant besides the human growing inside of you is the fact that your hair LOOKS AMAZING. Serious, model quality hair. Sometimes I would think to myself, If only I could remain pregnant, if just for my hair.

After my son was born I didn't really care how my hair looked -- or the rest of me, for that matter. I had NO TIME AT ALL to myself. Mostly, I kept it under a baseball cap or in a ponytail. Who cares about washing it, it's just going to get spit up on it. My great hair was a distant memory.


I moved to Las Vegas when my son was 4 to work in a production show on the famed Vegas strip. All the dancers wore wigs and as I looked at them I started to get an itching again to change up my hair. One of the girls' boyfriend was a colorist and he suggested I go red.
You mean like Lucy? Why not? It was the only color I hadn't been. I'd be paying homage to one of my heroes. And it's been various shades of red ever since.


I've been a redhead for over 10 years now. Oh sh*t, that's way too long without a hair event! It's time again. I need to do something with my hair.