Someone recently said this to me… “Your hair looks fake. I’m so jealous.” I’ll admit, this is better than being told that I look like the spitting image of Daria, but it’s still a strange compliment.
You recently rocked some awesome extensions at your wedding last summer, but it was cute because it DIDN’T look fake. Can you explain the DOs and DON’Ts of hair extensions? Also, are there really people out there who want their hair to look fake?
I shamefacedly AM the owner of clip-in hair extensions, but do not profess to know the ins and outs of fake hair. The one and only time I have ever had my hair professionally styled (beyond a cut and blow-dry) was for my wedding, and my hairstylist suggested I get some clip-in “pieces” to take my hair from nice to Glorious on my wedding day. I googled “clip-in hair NYC” and found this woman’s establishment:
Her sh*t looked even faker in real life, but she could sell snow to eskimos. Convinced I would not look pretty on my wedding day without full lucious hair shorn from the heads of unknown strangers, I plunked down more than I care to admit and got my very own weave. I was assured that the hair was “European” and that whatever woman (or man?) it came from had not been taken advantage of in any way, which I’ve since learned is a huge issue that freaks me the F out. When I wavered over the cost of the hair, she offered to give me twice as many clip-ins for the same price. At the time, it seemed reasonable, but when I recieved what is essentially 3 full heads of hair I questioned the logic. This is me with about half of the hair that I now own clipped into my head:
I look like I’m on my way to the Telemundo studios to audition for a telenovela.
Now, for my wedding, my stylist (who laughed when he saw how much hair I bought) put in a couple of pieces, blended it with my own hair, and called it a day. I was not going for a huge ringletted RHWOBH look, which seems to be part of this emerging societal ideal to have enormous fake-looking hair. It looked fairly natural and nice in the wedding photos, until I started dancing and sweating at the reception. Then that sh*t got matted and tangled until I resembled another prototype of American beauty:
On my wedding night, my new husband got to see me attempt to remove clumps of hair from my head in a provocative manner. Today, my extensions sit in their little extension bag, taking up valuable drawer space, wondering when they will get to see the light of day again. Unless there is an active market on Ebay for third-hand hair, that day may never come.