Have I told you the tale about my poor, fried mane? How after going blonde this summer, for the first time ever (blondes might just have more fun, after all) I ponied up the big bucks to have a keratin treatment, also known as the Brazilian Blowout, and soothe my poor, processed hair follicles?
Well.
The Brazilian Blowout essentially toutes itself as the America of hair products; give us your poor, your tired, your huddled masses of hair, longing to be free from damage and frizz, and lack of shine, it coos. My stylist told me that after the treatment, I wouldn’t have to blow dry my hair, ever again—or, until the treatment wore off anyway, which was an average of three months. As someone who has unruly half-straight, half-wavy hair, blow drying has been my only savior. Sea salt sprays, suggestions of “oh, just twist and rub a little product at the ends—so easy!” and other “tricks” have left my hair matted, frizzy, and far, far from anything remotely sleek.
So, after hearing my stylist gush, and googling Brazilian Blowouts (Nicole Richie is a fan), I decided to go for it, and plunk down far too much money than is wise for my dream hair.
Well.
While rinsing out the treatment, my usually chatty stylist became very, very quiet.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Just a second—I’ll be right back. I need to check something.” A phrase you never, ever want to hear your doctor, dentist, or stylist utter.
Long story short: soon three stylists, including the salon’s owner, were crowded around my now towel dried head, frowning. This has never happened before, they exclaimed. They called the Brazilian Blowout manufacturer, and they had never heard of this happening, either. Lucky me.
What happened was this: either the product or the extra hot flat iron used to seal the product in proved to be too much for my over-processed hair, and it was fried. And by fried I mean absolutely, positively ruined. Large patches of hair were curled into sad nests of frizzy doll hair. It was obscene. Apologizing profusely, they sent me home with a gentle flat iron and a bag of products they hoped would help to mask the damage, and didn’t charge me for the treatment. Obviously.
There was nothing to do but wear my hair up, and I have become incredibly creative with bobby pins over these past six months.
Since my hair can’t handle regular color, I have been using temporary at-home color, and crossing my fingers. The results have left much to be desired; flat, boring color that fades super fast.
I decided to take to the internet in search of a solution, and stumbled upon these glazes by John Freida. Oodles of magazines sing their praises, and so I think I’ll give them a shot. I’ll keep you posted on the results.
Keep your fingers crossed for me, will you? And maybe a toe or two, too.
XO Miranda
