Flat Hair, Don’t Care: My Lifelong Battle with Fine, Straight Strands

Fine, Straight, and Forever Flat: My Hair Story

From the outside, fine straight hair sounds like a blessing. Smooth! Shiny! Low-maintenance!…yeah, no. The truth? My hair has been mocking me since the late ’70s, and by the early ’80s it was already clear I was not destined for Farrah Fawcett waves. Instead, I’ve been rocking short hair for decades — not because I’m fashionable, but because long hair and I don’t get along.

Teen Years: When Big Hair Was Everything

If you were a teen girl in the late ’70s and early ’80s, you know the drill: the higher the bangs, the closer to God. Hot rollers, curling irons, perms, teasing combs, and hairspray clouds thick enough to choke out the ozone layer.

And me? I tried it all. I’d spend an hour with rollers, teasing until my arms ached, and spraying enough Aqua Net to turn my room into a fire hazard. My friends strutted around with feathered Farrah hair, while mine fell flat before I made it to the bus stop. Picture a broomstick with bangs — that was me.

Why I Always Keep It Short

By the time I reached adulthood, I learned the hard truth: my hair will never hold a ponytail, a braid, or anything that relies on volume. Elastics slip right out, bobby pins slide for freedom, and curls collapse faster than my willpower at a bake sale.

So short it stayed. And honestly? Short hair saves me from disappointment. It tricks people into thinking I might have volume, and it’s a whole lot less depressing than staring at Pinterest tutorials I’ll never pull off.

The Product Graveyard

I should probably open a museum for all the products I’ve wasted money on. Mousse, gel, “volumizing” sprays, root lifters, sea salt texturizers, powders — if it had the words big, lift, or bounce on the label, I bought it.

The results? Ten minutes of lift before it collapsed like a bad Jell-O mold, or worse, a greasy, sticky helmet. I basically funded half the haircare aisle in the ’80s for nothing.

Humidity: My Arch-Nemesis

And then there’s Texas humidity (because of course). I could style my hair indoors until it almost looked good, step outside, and instantly — plop. My hair just whispered, “Nice try,” and gave up. By the time I reached the car, it looked like I hadn’t even brushed it.

Grandma Wisdom

Now, decades later, as an old grandma with five grandkids, I can finally laugh about it. My hair never gave me the bouncy curls or the dramatic feathered flip of the ’80s, but it did teach me something: sometimes you have to stop fighting and just embrace what you’ve got.

So, I keep it short, I keep it simple, and I’ve learned to laugh at my past hair disasters. After all, life’s too short to keep chasing a Farrah Fawcett blowout when your hair is destined to look more like… well, a broom.