During the first year of my little girl’s life, I reveled in adorning her with an array of accessories. We had stretchy headbands in every conceivable hue, an abundance of oversized flowers, and my favorite: a charming red satin ribbon tied in a perfect bow that transformed her into a mini Snow White. Once we exhausted our headband collection, we ventured into the realm of hats—because honestly, is there anything cuter than a baby sporting a hat?
But then came the hair growth.
At first, this was a delightful new chapter. We embraced tiny toddler pigtails, and I felt confident in my styling prowess—until preschool arrived and I was confronted with a harsh truth: I’m terrible at hair.
I should have seen it coming. Growing up in the era of extravagant mall hairstyles, I was the only girl at school sporting a limp, lifeless mane. While my peers flaunted gravity-defying bangs, mine drooped lazily to one side. I had no interest in curling irons, Dippity-do, or any spritz that smelled like grapes and turned hair into a plastic-like mess. My mother made me endure a spiral perm, which I despised, and as an adult, I’ve essentially had two hairstyles: long and straight, or bobbed and straight. According to countless women’s magazines, I’ve been blow-drying my hair incorrectly for years—confusing my hair “ends” with the roots. So, I ditched the blow dryer altogether, leading to a look reminiscent of Samara from The Ring.
By the time my daughter reached three, her hair was a wild mane that evoked images of prehistoric children. I often found myself reassuring onlookers that no, my daughter wasn’t raised by wolves, and no, I wouldn’t be crawling out of a TV to haunt them.
The world of hair care is a mystery to me. I struggle with round brushes, and don’t even mention hot rollers, salt spray, or dry shampoo (which utterly confounds me). The only hair expertise I possess is removing gum—just use oil, and you’ll thank me later.
One day, a fellow preschool mom suggested I try detangler, and it was as if a light bulb went off in my head. That was a momentous victory—until my then-four-year-old came home asking for “beachy waves.” Alarmingly, she also knew what ombre was and pronounced it flawlessly. Things escalated quickly when she started requesting fishtails, mermaid hair, and something called a “waterfall twist.”
“Mommy, can you give me a topknot with a bow made from my own hair?” she inquired.
If, like me, you’re curious where she picked up these terms, the answer lies in YouTube and her classmates—who are clearly obsessed with braiding tutorials. These kids can barely color within the lines, yet they know the difference between a Dutch braid and a French braid—neither of which I can manage. Not yet, anyway. I’m slowly working on it.
I’m determined. I genuinely want to do this for my daughter, partly for her joy, but also to ensure she looks back on her childhood photos with fondness rather than horror—unlike the cringe-worthy spiral perm from 1989 that haunts me. Learning to style hair is my path to redemption, and I relish a good challenge.
I’m pleased to report that I’ve mastered the sock bun thanks to one of those “As Seen on TV” Hot Buns contraptions. It actually works! My bathroom now boasts more styling products than I’ve owned in my lifetime, though I’m still figuring out how to utilize them all.
Each morning, I practice with my daughter as my enthusiastic test subject. We giggle and plan our day while I attempt to twist, weave, and clip. She shares her wishes, and I give it my all. Typically, my efforts result in a hairstyle full of bumps and tangles that collapses within minutes, but I persist! I’m committed to learning.
Just yesterday, she requested a crown of braids encircling her head.
“Calm down, Milk Maid of the Alps,” I told her, but I gave it a shot anyway. She ended up looking more like a slightly deranged Frida Kahlo than a Swiss girl, but she thought it was beautiful, and that’s what truly counts.
Progress may be slow, but it’s happening. Realistically, my daughter and I probably won’t become Instagram hair stars, but that’s not the point. It’s about bonding with my little girl, making an effort to learn something new for her sake, and demonstrating that practice leads to improvement. Okay, maybe not perfection, but perhaps one day I’ll be able to master a decent side pony fishtail.
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In summary, my journey of navigating the world of hair styling for my daughter serves as a reminder of the importance of persistence, love, and the beautiful bond we share.
Keyphrase: hair styling struggles
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