The Subway Ponytail
In front of me on the L train this morning—mockingly, almost—was the lushest, fullest, bounciest, S-shaped ponytail I’ve ever seen. (Usually when I spot enviable hair, it’s jauntily swinging back and forth behind an Asian or Indian woman; this woman was African-American, like me, inspiring me all the more.) The train sped forth, leaving Brooklyn behind, rattling the ponytail into my face. I didn’t recoil; it smelled faintly of gardenias.
I don’t hate my hair at all—I just desperately wish I had tons more. The things I would do: fluff it out with my fingers so that it haloed my head in that outfit-making, Solange Knowles way; blow it straight to emulate the voluptuous subway ponytail; mold sections of it into jagged star-like points in a fit of glorious, Lady Gaga wackiness (and pair it with black lipstick—this one’s a weekend scenario); slick it back with an elastic to create a wild puff in back; wake up and perform every other morning ablution but neglect my hair completely…because piles and piles of untouched curls are inherently fabulous and the messier and more haphazardly tumbling—the better.
I still have my same chin-length, not super-abundant hair—but every night I smooth in a bit of this holistic, plant-seed-extract-infused, completely weightless Tammy Fender Beautifying Hair Serum. It smells insane—like the flower-strewn field I did cartwheels in over the summer upstate—and the blend of organic, nourishing ingredients helps to reverse damage and spur growth. My hair is shinier and thicker after I use it—and I like to think that in not too, too long I’ll be the girl with the jaunty ponytail.
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