Why Chia Pets Don't Have Bangs

Go ahead. Point. Laugh. Groan when you remember that you did it, too. But I'm going to bet that mine looked much worse. Let's face it: My chia pet curls were not meant to be teased into a Bang Wave. Let's not talk about the amount of hairspray involved. But in my pubescent need to fit in and look like the white girls I went to school with, this is what I came up with.

And really? I know it was probably the worst idea in the history of hair. Or at least it is until I come across another photograph that makes me think "I so have to blog this."

Also, this is me one-upping any relatives or friends who have embarrassing photos of my pre-famous days in case I ever actually do get that book deal. Seriously, people, it can't get much worse than this. Except for any surviving photos from my Match My Eyeshadow to My T-shirt phase. Cuz that sucked, too. Purple eyeshadow is not meant to be used in the quantities I slathered on my face. It's just not.

I'm on a boat in this photo. It was either 7th or 8th grade and we were on our way to Boblo Island in Michigan as part of an end of the school year trip for us totally awesome middle schoolers. I was socially awkward, tried so hard to blend in that it only made me stick out more, and quite obviously, dressed with the intention of having my future self ask the 13-year-old self what in hell I was thinking and point out that this is absolute proof when it comes to why I couldn't get a boy to look at me.

This photo also serves to prove my case when I tell people that I don't just have bad hair days. I've had bad hair decades, maybe. But a single day? Would have just been a vacation for my mexi-fro and my misguided attempts to not accept my hair for what it is: a kinky, spiral of curls so springy that my black friends snicker when they see  crap like this.

My first reaction when I found this photo was to burn it. Then I realized I need to hold on to it, if only to remind myself to try very hard every day to remind Buttercup to accept and celebrate every little oddity; every single piece of individuality. I spent far too long fighting myself (and my hair) before finally (blissfully) reaching the point where I could look in the mirror and smile at the woman standing in the mirror.