I know, surprise, surprise. I’m talking about the scheisse again. Only I’m not. I’m talking about shampoo.
I conducted an experiment for the last 14 days. I went “no poo”.
If you have ever met me or perhaps used my bathroom and perhaps opened my medicine cabinet (for which I would not hold it against you because who doesn’t look in medicine cabinets, I mean, except for me. I never do that.) you would see that I own every hair product known to man. Especially if it costs a lot of money and promises volume or shine. It would drive Sparky crazy if he had any clue as to how much I spend on hair care products. But then again, I am married to a marketer. He knows what a sucker I am for good advertising.
So, no shampooing. Egads, it must be the pregnancy. It must be cabin fever because why on earth would I attempt something so, so radical?
It sounds filthy and it sounds yucky. According to the believers, it’s none of those things.
As I’m still quarantined, I figured I’d give it a go because well, I wasn’t going anywhere. If my hair looked awful, only the cats would notice. I’m not happy with my hair right now. I want a change, but as I’m not going to lighten my locks until Loki requires a babysistter, I figured I’d shake up the hair tree. (That sounds gross too. Hair tree? Not quite a hair pie, but close.)
This started with an article I read on SFGate. Something about the chemicals in shampoo causing cancer. One would think that with my familial history of cancer (currently the family dog in California has the cancer ball with some sort of butt cancer. We’ve passed it around and that damn loopy poodle is the next up in our hot spot) I would have focused on that part. I didn’t. I’m a vain creature.
I just wanted to see if my hair would look and feel better.
It didn’t. I cleansed my hair with baking soda, apple cider vinegar and lemon juice. I did the conditioner wash. I followed all the advice looking for that perfect combo, but I lost patience before I found the holy grail of no poo-ing.
Fourteen days is all I’m willing to give the experiment. Frankly, not only did my hair look and feel worse, it was too much trouble. Why do all these natural things have to be so time consuming? I’d save the planet if it weren’t so damn inconvenient.
This morning I lathered, rinsed and repeated. God, it felt good. No, really. Nothing feels real good these days, but man, that shampoo, heaven. Seriously, it was close to orgasmic. And now that my hair is almost dry, I can’t stop touching it. It feels like silk again instead of rough, coarse and bristly. I have somewhat fine hair. It shouldn’t have felt like a broom.
The entire time I kept asking Sparky’s opinion. Asking Sparky to notice the subtleties of my hair is like asking him to notice if my toe nail polish is too red-red and if I should tone it down. He doesn’t care as long as they look good in stilettos.
So I had to go it alone and alone I decided that wearing my hair up in a pony tail for 6 days was indication that the new system wasn’t working.
Kudos to the people who can work it without succumbing to Patchouli oil. I’m going to stick with my Cat Walk, MOP products, Alterna and Pureology.