tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42729868144922415532012-02-16T02:06:45.891-08:00What hair does to us, what we do to hairClaire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.comBlogger621100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-88180185879604539942012-01-31T09:03:00.000-08:002012-02-07T10:41:26.801-08:00

Have you ever loved something and held it dear, then grew a little older, and felt as if you'd been duped? Such is the case with a book I still adore, called Mop Top. It's a children's book written and illustrated by Don Freeman, published in 1955, about a kid who has to get his hair cut. On the way to the barber, he encounters lush uncut grass, a shaggy dog, etc. (the illustrations are fabulous)

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-88363721060710300962011-12-26T14:22:00.000-08:002012-01-04T07:33:16.395-08:00

Before After Some things we do are intentional. "I'm thinking about cutting my hair shorter," I said to Susan. "You shouldn't do that," she said. "Short hair makes women look older." Even more drastically, I wanted to go red. I haven't had red hair since 1982, since the photo was taken (above) that I use for this blog. So in the stylist's chair, I blundered around trying to

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-63184748377921112192011-11-28T12:10:00.000-08:002011-11-28T14:47:30.527-08:00

On a trip this summer, I happened to be on an airport shuttle with an Amish couple. Probably, they are New Order Amish, as air travel is permissible in New Order beliefs. These young Amish were stand-outs, not only for their garb, but for the man's hair cut, a "bowl cut," common to the Amish, but startlingly blunt and severe to my eye. At the time, I did not know enough about Amish hair beliefs

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-79429318019478687962011-10-31T17:07:00.000-07:002011-11-01T06:37:38.578-07:00

Last Saturday, I was heading over to Westlake Center to hear some speeches at the Occupy Seattle gathering, when I crossed paths with this fine-looking fellow. "May I take your picture?" I asked. He not only let me take the photo, he posed for me. I am especially intrigued by this mohawk style -- I see a lot of it on Seattle streets. People get their hair to stand on end using hair spray, gel,

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-89575349574768386572011-09-21T08:38:00.000-07:002011-09-21T08:39:49.473-07:00

I had lunch with my friend Michele recently, after which she said she was headed to a hair appointment. "Summer is always the worst," she said. "My hair grows faster, so I end up at the stylist more often." Really?! Just when I think I've heard it all, some new hair tidbit gets me wondering. I ran the concept past my hair stylist. "So Jeff, does hair really grow faster in the summer?" "Yup.

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-78649399685522896052011-08-10T09:21:00.000-07:002011-08-10T09:21:11.447-07:00

My great-great-grandmother Elizabeth Crolly Harm kept a "Mark Twain Scrapbook," an 1892 method of saving newspaper clippings. Recently, I discovered the following article (clipped from a Cleveland, Ohio newspaper?): CHARACTER TOLD BY HAIR     Character is more easily discernible by close observation of hair than by noting the expression of the face.     It is a wonderful guide to the mental

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-73686858562408453532011-07-23T08:53:00.000-07:002011-07-23T09:03:40.117-07:00

I may have a hair fascination, but Dennis Milam Bensie has a hair obsession, which he owns up to in his memoir, Shorn: Toys to Men. Bensie's hair fetish began in childhood when he stole Barbie dolls and secretly cut off all their hair. While it may be a myth that smoking marijuana leads to harder drugs, it seems cutting off Barbie's hair might lead to an irrepressible need to sheer the hair off

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-13037529248287041482011-06-15T09:01:00.000-07:002011-07-16T06:04:18.148-07:00

"Black Gold." That's what the $900 million hair market is called, according to Scott Carney in his book The Red Market. It seems our hair is a hot commodity, the obvious end market being hair extensions and wigs. There is another end market, too, not nearly as obvious. As leavening. Check out this npr interview, where Melissa Block talks with Carney. In India, the Sri Tirumala Temple (which

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-61823780459607995122011-05-31T08:32:00.000-07:002011-06-15T08:21:20.161-07:00

What does it mean? "In this world nothing happens to a person that she does not for some reason or other deserve. ... Karma ... is the result of our own past actions and our own present doings." [excerpted from Basic Buddhism] The other day, while researching my thesis, I went to my local library to look for a dictionary on swearing (swearing in German. It's a long story.) The librarian walked

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-15973954893370873742011-04-29T09:16:00.000-07:002011-04-29T11:04:32.010-07:00

One version of the story about the way I fell in love with my future husband goes like this: I fell in love with his painting first. I saw it on the wall of his brother’s house, when his brother Paul and I were college classmates together. It blew me away. Not just the orange hair and the purple scar leaking down a ghastly pale face, but the quote written along the sides: “Find someone with your

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-6385298362806890792011-03-31T09:44:00.000-07:002011-03-31T09:44:00.864-07:00

In the mid-nineteenth century, my God, the facial hair on men! Men took their lead from celebrities in the mid-1800s, just as they do today. Many credit Abraham Lincoln with the horseshoe beard. But it seems the fashion trend began in 1852, with the Hungarian Revolutionary Louis Kossuth, who shaved his chin. (Kossuth was a clothes horse in general, and style-crazed Americans also went mad

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-23602042701367477592011-02-28T18:17:00.000-08:002011-03-22T16:56:20.316-07:00

I was a teenager in the era of Angela Davis. Believe you me, my high school classmates had some impressive "natural" afros. Here are two friends of mine from the good old days. We rarely see this style now -- fashion trends for African Americans and Caucasians still lean heavily toward straightened hair. Even people with straight hair iron it, for that polished, no-frizz look. But I don't feel

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-61471910918136244482011-01-24T17:12:00.000-08:002011-01-28T17:33:19.636-08:00

Last October, my cousin was showing me around the Historisches Museum der Pfalz Speyer when we paused before this portrait of a Bavarian queen. "I wonder about the fashion where women used to color their hair gray," Angela mused. At the time, I admit I was too distracted by the 18th-century version of a bump-it to really consider the implications of gray fashion. "How did they get their hair

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-58428896876022721342010-12-29T17:34:00.000-08:002010-12-29T17:42:24.024-08:00

Once a long time ago, a psychologist explained to me the difference between a reaction and a response. A reaction is knee-jerk, like when the doctor hammers your knee during a check-up. Or like when you put zebra-stripes in your hair, take one look in the mirror, and scream.A response is more carefully considered, something over which you exert some control, like when your child hits you in anger

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-51296484904967059342010-11-29T12:43:00.000-08:002011-01-11T17:38:22.616-08:00

I confess a personal prejudice against the bob, especially the kind that's long in front and short in back (to see pictures, check out this link to Victoria Beckham). I'm sitting in the salon chair when I notice all the girls at the counter have this kind of bob hair style. Even now, my stylist Jeff is clipping away at the back of my head. Uh oh. I clear my throat. "A lot of people wear their

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-14847920852593718482010-10-23T13:07:00.000-07:002011-04-29T09:44:10.766-07:00

I'm getting ready to go to Germany, so I make an appointment for a haircut. "Do you know anything about hairstyles in Germany?" I ask Jeff. He shrugs. "Should I?" Fair enough. I mean, it's not like there's a Paris or Milan (or Berlin) of hairstyles. There is, however, Hollywood. In Germany,  I noticed how many teenage boys had haircuts like the current teen idol Zac Efron. Across age and

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-31653559789576805562010-09-15T17:45:00.000-07:002010-09-15T22:16:48.498-07:00

My friend Jo started cutting her own hair. Self-preservation, due to the eccentric methods of her last hair stylist. "I swear to you, when I lived in Bellingham, my hair stylist was this New Ager who'd swoop in with the scissors with his eyes closed. I knew I could do a better job than that." No doubt she's saved a bundle. My son does, too. He's in college now, but still he comes home for a hair

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-68563324551780693302010-08-24T17:35:00.000-07:002011-11-03T08:18:41.464-07:00

"You need a haircut." My aunt said this to me, my friend Jo said this to me. Thing was, the last time I visited my salon, I paid a pretty price for what amounted to nothing special. Even before the stylist unpinned me from the chair, I was contemplating how, next time, I'd try somewhere else. But how to find somewhere else? A problem. I wanted some place close to home (carbon footprint) but

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-18343773302688505372010-07-16T16:07:00.000-07:002010-08-25T16:44:22.752-07:00

As I work on my MFA thesis, I've been rummaging through the 19th century. Which means I've spent countless hours in musty museums, and been known to linger over-long at spots like the Western Trails Museum at Knotts Berry Farm. From the dim inner sanctum of this fascinating 19th century collection, my teenagers chafed at the rumble of amusement park rides just outside, the thrilled screams of

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-57494670128177085292010-06-30T09:24:00.000-07:002010-06-30T14:57:05.184-07:00

I have a daughter going off to college, which has reminded me of dorm life and cafeteria food. At that juncture in my life, I was a vegetarian. Alternative food choices at cafeterias in the (ahem) late 1970's were not all that appetizing, if they existed at all. Hence, the salad bar became my mainstay. My source of protein? An enormous bowl of peanut butter set on crushed ice at the end of the

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-86073280504153765082010-05-17T11:01:00.000-07:002010-05-17T11:22:01.865-07:00

The Complete Book of Hairstyling sits on the kitchen table. I leaf through photo after photo of styles: short hair knotted on the head in messy clumps, or tinted, or ironed to straight perfection; long hair teased, braided, twisted, kinked, or sproinged. "What's this for?" I ask my daughter, though I have my suspicions. "I'm thinking about styling my hair for the prom," she says, "an updo

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-59021257934906876852010-04-09T21:00:00.000-07:002010-05-03T14:45:48.490-07:00

Standing in line at Disneyland, I started to think about dreadlocks. I wonder why ... I got to thinking how dreadlocks weren't exactly a sought-after hair style when I was growing up. But now, people from all walks of life and ethnic groups choose to wear their hair this way. It's all in good fun, right? Not exactly. For Hair Beliefs, Part IV, I checked into the history -- recent and ancient

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-66522876687209083952010-03-10T17:59:00.000-08:002010-04-09T17:40:21.814-07:00

I love my book group. When we first started meeting, we named ourselves "The Women Who Sleep With Books" because we all had young children, and the only time we had to read books was in bed late at night. By then, we were often too tired and fell asleep. But the we-all-have-young-children days are long gone. Now we're in leagues with our hot flashes. Apparently, I've been more flamboyant about

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-90838338036607545882010-02-26T10:29:00.000-08:002010-02-26T16:48:34.591-08:00

This month, I'll let images speak for themselves. My son and my brother: My father and his greatgrandfathers, German to the left, Scottish to the right: It's a little tougher to make comparisons between women, because we're always stylin'.

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-33760491078302386052010-01-29T08:56:00.000-08:002010-02-04T12:31:15.481-08:00

I've noticed a lot of Atomic Pink hair lately. Brighter than bright hair colors are today's fashion choice: Limelight, Blue Mayhem, Napalm Orange, Pimpin Purple. But I've noticed Atomic Pink hair the most.The other day I was standing in line at a fast food burger place with my octogenarian friend Gordon. It was a busy lunch hour, the lines stacked four and five deep. Gordon surveyed the room, his

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-65929013749405979382009-12-31T09:40:00.000-08:002010-01-18T10:02:00.869-08:00

There is evidence that hair wigs were first used by Egypians around 3000 BC. In the hot climate, lice and other hair vermin proliferated, so the Egyptians learned to shave their heads and replace their real hair with elaborate wigs--fancy, braided, sculptural works of hair art affixed to their bare scalps with beeswax. This bust of a young woman (called Meritaten), from a collection in the Louvre

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-28798463390824718492009-11-28T14:10:00.000-08:002009-12-31T09:40:41.044-08:00

Procure a hand mirror, a one-sided mirror. The kind they use at hair salons, the kind that lets you see the back of your head, the invisible part, to you that is. Turn the mirror to the blank side, as when you can't bear to see, the side that protects the face from cracking, collecting dust. Now, tilt the mirror up and away from you, toward the sky, as if flashing a rescue helicopter. Careful now

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-72420364863664833542009-10-31T09:27:00.000-07:002010-11-04T15:15:57.584-07:00

Islamic beliefs about hair. Now we're talking sacred hair. It has been suggested the Muslim practice of taking special care with hair and nail clippings dates back to prehistoric animist beliefs that all parts of the physical body are considered to contain life's "soul-stuff". One ritual that leads scholars to this conclusion occurs during the pilgrimage to Mecca, where Muslim men enter a sacred

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-70947090276650732372009-09-26T14:04:00.000-07:002009-10-21T08:41:00.686-07:00

In the early 1990's, with two kids under the age of five, Dave and I established a workable household routine. We fed our children healthy food, kept them active and outside, got them to bed at a decent hour. While we didn't love the ordeal of nightly baths, we tackled them with good-humored resilience. So when the preschool letter came home in January about a Northwest epidemic of head lice, I

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-30395951991900503582009-08-31T08:35:00.000-07:002009-08-31T13:12:35.086-07:00

I contend there are links--though they may be as elusive as String Theory--between hair and the cosmos. Hair has a certain other-worldly quality. Hair is composed of an especially durable protein, so it lasts long after our lives have departed this earth. Picture a skeleton, all flesh decomposed, just hair and bones. Creepy.Maybe that's why, in mythology, hair is so often associated with death.

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-83511510018064807572009-07-31T16:46:00.000-07:002009-08-05T14:03:57.235-07:00

In June, I got together with three writer friends in my Whidbey MFA program. As we hung out and rehashed the semester, I noticed our hair varied to match our personalities. KD's hair is sculpted and short, an echo of the succinct word choice of the hard-core poet. JB had wash-and-wear hair, the clean assurance of the capable, practical mother. To underscore the point, she bounced her newborn in

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-73518263871974750282009-06-30T09:58:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:12:15.123-08:00

I've never shaved my head. The closest I came to the bald look was having it cut down to an inch all around, which felt so, in a word, freeing. Not only did my head suddenly feel light as air--in psychological terms, it also took a load off. Hair is a visual cue to others--it's how they recognize us. When I went from an abundant, curly perm to almost no hair, a friend in the grocery store walked

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-44240021601238767842009-05-28T16:51:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:12:36.089-08:00

I've insisted from the start there's something uncanny about hair. There are no end of religious views on it, in spite of the fact that, scientifically speaking, humans are "among the most hairless of all mammals."The most important function of hair in mammals is that of insulating against cold by conserving body heat. (Encyclopedia Britannica)So perhaps we magnify its allure. Or not: The

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-42839891368650041652009-04-26T11:15:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:01:37.531-08:00

We blame our parents whenever we can. I can't blame my mom for my hair, though--hers was a beautiful black, thick and glossy with healthy bounce. Mine is fine, straight and brown, making up in quantity what it lacks in quality. I wish I'd received a free haircut every time I heard the stylist say: "You've got a lot of hair." It would have saved me a bundle. Of course there are other attributes I

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-34846989462086936632009-03-28T15:27:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:09:42.363-08:00

I have a friend who has no hair. He may shave it, or it may be genetic baldness--we've never really talked about it. He always wears a hat on his head, sometimes a baseball hat, sometimes a knit cap. What with the dark circles under his eyes, and his perpetual five o'clock shadow, he looks pretty thuggish. He's on my mind this weekend because on April 6 he has to appear in King County Superior

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-57241123063581743882009-02-20T10:33:00.000-08:002010-02-16T15:09:34.572-08:00

Being remade is a process of discovery. For my recent haircut, I put myself in the hands of a protégé.“What’s a protégé?” I asked when the receptionist offered this level of stylist as the only opening of the day.“It’s usually someone who’s new, they’re learning, training for our salon. They don’t cost so much, only 30 dollars.”“Why not?” I heard myself say. "12:30? I'll be there."A couple of

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-35646948496755281892009-01-30T09:33:00.000-08:002010-02-16T15:09:42.364-08:00

It sounds sexier than it is. Hair twirling, something I've been doing since my first conscious memory, is considered a self-manipulation habit. I always do it with my left hand, on the back left part of my skull. I twirl and wrap and weave my fingers and twist my hair up tight, then fold and push the knot against my skull, then release it, untangle it, and start all over. Again and again.

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com63tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-19928993261028533832008-12-19T17:47:00.000-08:002010-02-16T15:09:42.364-08:00

I chopped off my hair just before we left Buffalo, home of hot and spicy chicken wings and Friday fish fries. It was time to look forward to a new life in Seattle.The week of departure, I told my stylist to cut off my floppy, fake curls, right down to an inch all around. "Have you talked to your husband?" the stylist asked. (They always ask this, it must be part of the training.)"Look," I said, "

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-71428203300064158092008-11-12T18:27:00.000-08:002010-02-16T15:09:42.365-08:00

It's not just me, I swear. Stop and think for a minute about how many classic stories include hair, even celebrate hair, movies like: "Barbershop," "Steel Magnolias," "Legally Blonde," musicals like "Grease," "Hairspray," and, wait for it ... "Hair."I've spilled many--but not all--of my hair calamities in these blogs, my quirky tastes, comedies and crises, but I've made scant mention of hair

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-74802210862348107262008-10-16T10:05:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:09:42.365-08:00

Aunt Elizabeth keeps me on my toes. "Your closet! Your closet!" She wails at the sight of me, her plea for me to pay closer attention to what I wear. Under her severe gaze, I'm a child again, whining that I have neither the time nor the inclination. My aunt is, as always, unflinching. "Your hair, too. People expect that, you know." I do know. It's a mistake to let yourself go; no matter how many

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-92208608137194077522008-09-27T10:29:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:09:42.366-08:00

I've just returned to the car from the bookstore, from a reading by an old friend (and I mean old!). It was a nice event as signings go, the old man sitting up there, crotchety but proud, the audience populated with gray-haired friends from his retirement home. I shopped for a while afterward, only to be surprised when I left to find the old author and his friends still waiting, leaning shakily

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-27847500943863359202008-08-29T12:24:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:09:18.616-08:00

I've learned a thing or two since I began the Whidbey Island MFA Program, about how the unconscious mind might not arise from below, as is often depicted in diagrams, but actually flows down from above, about how time isn't necessarily linear but cyclical, spiraling back on itself again and again like the tales of 1001 Arabian Nights.Oddly enough, the concept of cyclical time rings true for me

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-83865094956898711812008-07-28T09:27:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:09:42.367-08:00

It is the spring of 1970 in this picture. I was twelve years old. Technically still a child, I sported short pigtails and a clean-cut look. My nose often lost in a book, I didn't pay much attention to what was going on around me, but the atmosphere in the U.S. then was charged. Neil Young would write a song about that time, a song with the refrain: Four dead in Ohio, and James Michener would

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-29164500965339908362008-06-20T10:53:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:09:42.367-08:00

"I used to have red hair, you know.""Really? Red?! How red? Like that fake, dark red, or a more realistic I'm-a-real-redhead kind?""Oh, it didn't look too real. After I'd colored it, my eyebrows still betrayed me. They stayed brown, you see.""Do people really notice that?""I didn't care, really, I thought red was a good look. Eventually, though, it was a luxury I had to give it up. It was just

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-79913546378953723792008-05-19T13:56:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:09:42.368-08:00

I've gone to Studio 904 for so long that I pretty much know my way around, right down to where not to park in the parking lot, as in, NOT in the space nearest the door to the salon: after one visit, I came back out to a car windshield shellacked in bird doo from a gull's nest on the street lamp directly overhead.Plus, it's on the Island, so I don't have to emit a lot of carbons to get there. But

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-19644391919708084932008-04-03T11:10:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:09:42.368-08:00

When we were little, Dad cut my brothers' hair. It wasn't Mom's job, God forbid! Mom couldn't even color between the lines, let alone wield sharp scissors around tender ears. No, Dad was the architect, the steady hand with design instincts, and thus, the only parent eligible for the job. On haircut nights, Dad would sit my brothers down one by one on a stool under direct light, their hair shiny

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-49573011043279883202008-03-06T15:32:00.000-08:002010-02-16T15:09:59.976-08:00

My daughter had almost no hair when she was born. Of course, the ducky softness of her baby hair was wonderful, but I couldn’t help but worry when she reached one year of age and still had almost none.Naturally, my worries were for nothing--soon enough she had a delightful head of blondish hair. Still, once it was finally long enough for a cut at a salon, I hovered nervously nearby while the

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-6602906426201064942008-02-15T13:39:00.000-08:002010-02-16T15:10:09.858-08:00

I was talking to an almost-bald guy the other day. He's young, which makes his hair loss all the more noticeable. We'd only just met, and I was trying to be friendly. It made no difference to me that he had thinning hair. When I meet people, appearance isn't foremost in my mind. Instead, I focus on what they have to say, on how they respond to teasing remarks, to whether or not they laugh at my

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-31342020623433460652008-01-05T15:40:00.001-08:002010-02-16T15:10:16.970-08:00

The family Bibles are old; their leather bindings disintegrate in our hands as we pull them from the shelves. We fan the gold-gilded pages; instantly, the room fills with the smell of dank basements and ancient lives. My brother Craig and I must make decisions about these family treasures, but first, we hope, we will uncover a bit of our history.In the pages of three different Bibles, we discover

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-32218421016072707272007-12-12T10:18:00.000-08:002008-09-27T12:05:52.297-07:00

I gave up perms, but I'm ashamed to say it was a beauty-based decision, not an environmental one. I didn't consider the fact that perm solutions contain triethanolamine (TEA), diethanolamine (DEA), or monoethanolamine (MEA).What happened was, my hair stylist Kendra moved to California and I got Doug instead. The last time I'd been to see Kendra, I'd gotten this gorgeous, soft spiral perm, which

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-27961307241111428572007-11-06T10:37:00.000-08:002010-02-16T15:10:47.409-08:00

At family gatherings when I was just a little girl, my brothers and I were the only young children around. By the time we were born, the family tree had dwindled to our branch, and our branch alone. I had no first cousins, not even older ones. We were it.As such, family picnics and reunions were chock full of old people and their foibles, a source of endless entertainment for me and my brothers.

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-8649031505261864582007-10-19T09:46:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:10:47.410-08:00

Fast forward to this month, to my most recent visit to the hair salon. Recently, I've been hankering after a change in hair styles, wishing for something less conservative, a little, well, perhaps younger is the word I'm looking for. While I wait for my hair stylist, Tina, I'm leafing through a photo album of hair styles and spy one that looks pretty great on a woman half my age. I bring the book

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-44517146982357513462007-10-07T03:48:00.000-07:002011-04-29T09:34:09.296-07:00

I'd been growing out my hair for six years, the longest it had ever gone without a cut. I'd graduated from high school, then college without cutting it. I'd gotten married without cutting it. But then Dave and I, newly married, traveled to South America for an extended tour. I'll never forget the thickness of the air in the tropics--the endless tracts of big-leafed banana trees, humid and dense.

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-12468866163848563502007-09-09T09:02:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:11:20.374-08:00

Grandmother Patterson was a tiny woman who wore demure outfits complete with matching pocketbooks, thick-heeled black shoes, and old-lady hair. Her hair was in no way remarkable; as a little girl, I was more intrigued by the hairnet holding it in place. She'd confide to me from time to time that she wasn't always so old, and perhaps she even noticed my skepticism. But probably not--when she'd

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-79946323575278985592007-08-23T15:00:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:11:20.375-08:00

Zofia, a bleached-blond, Polish hair stylist, worked alone. I remember her low-lit shop, her tight polyester pants, her pale blouse tied loosely at her waist. She wore open-toed shoes--a fashion I hadn't noticed till then--her glossy, dark pink toes erupting from the front ends at odd angles.I'm guessing Zofia was in her late fifties, around the same age as my mom at the time. With her heavily

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-89795137621024186642007-08-09T15:49:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:11:20.375-08:00

I can't help but think that hair is something larger than a fashion choice. I did not come to this conclusion lightly. I came to it years ago, when I was working as an office manager. I'd been growing out my hair for several years--three, in fact--ever since I'd moved to the Northwest.I was at the office one morning, working diligently at my desk, doing everyday tasks like filing, letter-typing

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-27008701671094847192007-07-25T06:11:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:11:20.376-08:00

My straight hair is god-given, something that came with the Claire kit. Apparently, it can't be returned for exchange or refund.I figured this out early, when selected to be an angel in the Christmas Eve pageant. Even my mom was enchanted by the halo and gossamer wings the church school teacher had given me. In a rare nod to playing dress up, she did her best to add to the overall effect, using

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-61022132609220443672007-07-11T18:35:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:11:20.377-08:00

When I was in my twenties, I moved seven times in seven years. Now that I've stuck it out in the same locale for a couple of decades, I've discovered stylists are perpetually on the move as well. One said she was moving to a different city to see what it was like. Another fell for a boyfriend who wanted her to learn to dance the salsa and sit by his pool. One guy got a chair in a better salon.

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-91582394398654604552007-06-22T15:51:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:11:20.377-08:00

I know that having hair is not a given, but I'd always had plenty of it. Too much, even, so that I'd have to stand under a blow-dryer way longer than I had patience for to get all that hair dry. So no one was as shocked as I was to discover a few years ago that my hair was falling out. By the handful. By the brush full. My hairline was inexpicably receding. The drain was clogged with hair each

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-19091959528289338952007-06-08T09:16:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:11:20.378-08:00

I was overdue for a hair cut, which I'd been putting off because I just couldn't get excited about it. Besides, I was having trouble with my oven. The gas was taking forever to ignite and when it did there was a dull explosion inside. Not to mention the murky gas odor I kept smelling. So I made an oven appointment instead, calling the 800 number in the Amana repair manual."Thank you for calling

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-19599654163291743102007-06-05T11:25:00.001-07:002010-02-16T15:11:20.378-08:00

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4272986814492241553.post-49250555626700846572007-06-04T20:41:00.000-07:002010-02-16T15:11:40.096-08:00

This is how it starts. I sit in the salon chair and the stylist fastens that slippery black cape tightly around my neck—too tightly. I’ve never heard of anyone asphyxiating in a stylist’s chair, so I try to relax. This hair appointment is therapy—a much needed dose of medicine—a make-over to my next level of self-awareness. Breathe, I tell myself, breathe. I've lost my regular hairdresser, who

Claire Gebbenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13758625835749015476noreply@blogger.com2