I once read on Jezebel (a liberal fashion blog that I read pretty regularly), that the only appropriate time to wear a scrunchie is if you are performing gymnastics in the Olympics. To this I say: Jezebel, you are wrong. Maybe it shows how non-existent my fashion sense is, or maybe it just indicates I've never left 1997, either way, the scrunchie is my hair accessory of choice. Nothing but those fabric-wrapped loops of elastic will tame my mane of hair, especially in the morning when I haven't done anything with it . Or even in the evening when I want that elegant up-do without a lot of fuss. Oh heck, all the time. I wear scrunchies all the time. No other hair accessory in the world has been created that can single-handedly hold up all my hair. There is no clip, no headband, no magic wand invented that is capable of allowing my hair to defy gravity and stay off my neck the way I want it to. There is only the scrunchie. In it's natural state, my hair is long, thick, and slightly wavy.
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| Like so, only usually without the straw hat. |
Not only is each strand thick, they grow thick on my head. Which is great. I love my hair. I occasionally get it cut so that it has long layers that brush my shoulders with the rest a few inches longer, but mostly, I just like it to grow in unabashed abundance until it gets gnarly at the ends, and I get it trimmed. Sometimes I don't even bother paying someone to do it, I just give my patient, slightly OCD husband a pair of shears and let him carefully cut a straight line.
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| My stylist. |
I guess that might explain my love of scruchies: instant hair "style". There is no fuss. My neck is free and open to the air, as it prefers. And I have had to do very little to get it so.
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| A scrunchie and I enjoying a cool mountain stream. |
The biggest problem: finding one. I own about a dozen scrunchies, but to cater to fashion, most of them are dark or neutral colors. That means they blend in to the surroundings like a baby deer.
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| Where's my scrunchie!!! |
They generally congregate on my nightstand, because I do take my hair down when I go to sleep. No, I don't do the Little House on the Prairie thing where I braid it at night to keep it neat.
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| Although, maybe I should. |
Unfortunately, I always seem to want one when my husband is sleeping. And when I need a scrunchie, I NEED a scrunchie. I'm also clumsy. So clumsy it could probably be considered a disability if only the government would realize that I need to be protected from myself before an uneven sidewalk causes me to lose a leg. So I sneak in to the dark bedroom, try not to bump into the bed, avoid knocking over my ever-present water glass, and search for a scrunchie. "What are you doing?" Dan sleepily mutters. "Nothing, go back to sleep," I whisper as my hand closes around my goal: a purple glittery monstrosity with lace appliques. Now said monstrosity is holding up my hair as I type this, and I love it. I will use this scrunchie all day, no matter if it matches my outfit or not. It may not be in vogue, but so what? I love it.
Maybe someday my cosmetologist sister will teach me how to blow dry my hair so it's easier to manage. But I'm not holding my breath. Even if she succeeds, my scrunchies and I will continue to defy fashion (and gravity), on a daily basis.
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