You came into my life in the year of 2007 when I was just a sprightly young thing, eager to enter the scary new world of ‘Sixth Form’. We embarked on that journey together, do you remember?
You came into my life just when my frizzy ends needed you the most, and boy, did you work your magic. I may have had braces and the remainders of chronic teenage acne, but my god Gloria, you made me look like an absolute babe. Do you remember the time I decided to highlight my then black-as-the-night hair in a bid to return it to it’s natural mousey hue? How I laughed when it turned a shade of mustard yellow, brighter than the sun. (I didn’t laugh, I cried. A lot)
Ah, those were the days. I was the envy of all the girls at my school and was breaking hearts all over the South West. And it was all because of you, Gloria, you took that golden mane and saw potential.
And then came the ‘experimental’ phase. I really did go off the rails there, I must admit. I only went and put a PURPLE STREAK IN MY GOD DAMN HAIR. I know, shit really did get real in 2007. Luckily the purple faded into a bright orange quicker than you could say ‘Is your head bleeding??’ and soon orange streaky bits were appearing all over the catwalks in Milan, Paris and NYC.
I soon flew the nest of my cosy little home town to the dizzying heights of Southampton to continue my education. And you were there for me when I decided a late noughties revival of the infamous ‘Rachel’ hair cut would be a fantastic idea. You made those choppy layers cut into the residual puppy fat in my cheeks in just the way Jennifer Aniston herself would’ve wanted. It was awkward getting asked for an autograph at every student event, but I had become accustomed to fame after Kate Moss started sporting ‘The Orange Peel’ (my orange streaky look circa 2007 had now been patented).
Sometimes I look back and wonder whether I always made smart hair choices though, I must admit. Perhaps the years I decided to forgo the judgemental wrath of the hairdresser by cutting my own hair weren’t the best. (In my defence, I found a nifty trick involving hacking at a twisted bit of hair which felt like a really good idea at the time). And perhaps applying ‘Sun In’ in the ends of my hair with my housemate in 2011, without gloves, and without actual sun wasn’t the best idea. And I suppose my hands did blister just a little bit.
And what about my Zooey Deschanel years, Gloria? Where I would use you to straighten my fringe to within an inch of its life, spray half a can of hairspray and pray that my fringe would stay in place for half an hour? I tell you something, I learnt a lot in that time. Most importantly that a perfectionist cannot have a fringe without wanting to kill herself every single day.
Ah what a rollercoaster, Gloria. Thank you for always putting my glamour needs first. I will endevour to make you proud with all my future hair choices. Rest in Peace.