Thursday, March 31, 2011

Never trust a man...

…who frosts his hair. That’s right, I said FROSTS. Not highlights his hair…not colors his hair…FROSTS.

Don’t even give me your best rationalization for this absurd undertaking. Any man who frosts his hair isn’t to be trusted…under any circumstance. Contradictory I know…to my previous assertions regarding not judging books by covers. Contrary I know…coming from a man who wears bracelets and girl shoes. Shut up. I have my opinions and if I want yours, I'll give it to you. Or you can just start your own damn blog.
And while I’m on the subject, let’s not let the issue of hair coloring get by us. WTF? I mean really. Come on Wayne, give it up. That hair color looks about as natural as your plastic surgery.
And good ole Strom was the poster child for hair plugs and orange hair dye. Tang I believe, was his color of choice. And dig the bow tie. "Ok den Miss Maggie...y'all have a nice time heeyuh in Washin'tun now."  (It's hard to write a tangy Strom Thurmond dotage accent)
I have nothing to say here. Nothing.
Now back to frosting. This frosting apparatus and the frosting process is part and parcel of my viscerally negative reaction to hair frosting. It goes back to the eighties when I was living in Charlotte, North Carolina. There was a particular summer that was one of my best post-undergrad summers—ever. Living large with a couple of my KA buddies and hitting The Cellar every weekend, we manifested every behaviour typical of twenty-something year old trad boys. And then...and then...there was a woman.
A moving van pulled up one Saturday morning. We were getting a new neighbor. A moment later a car pulled in behind the moving van and from it emerged a little hottie. A hottie in madras and a sorority jersey and a Tennessee accent. A recent graduate from the University of Tennessee, she was a manufacturers rep for some health and beauty products distributor. For the next six months we were oversupplied with soap and shampoo and other beauty treatments. It was free...we took it. Butcept the hair frosting kits.

But I digress. Surprise there…I know. When my little Tennessee gal stepped out of her car I said loud enough for her to hear it… “thank you Jesus” …but I knew better. I knew better than to thank Jesus for such things. But I did anyway.
Surely she needed assistance moving in and as luck would have it, my roomies were elsewhere so it was only little ole me. So little ole me commenced commencing and move in she/we did. Providence Road Sundries seemed like a logical place to decamp post moving that day and so we went. Let the woo-fest begin.

It was a torrid supernova of a summer. I would come home from work on Friday and, like most afternoons, don my running gear for a five miler. Butcept Miss Tennessee would intercept me and I was easily coaxed out of my run. I remember telling my fratty brothers as I dashed out the door, to wait on me till I returned from my run and I’d go with them for beers. I didn’t return for three days. I’ve always been a slender fella but at one point during this summer of love, one of my cohorts allowed that I looked like a needed i.v. fluids. I was caught-up in the tentacles of neighborly circumstance. What was I gonna do? 
So what does all of this have to do with hair frosting you ask? Hell I don’t know. One afternoon Miss Tennessee rings our little shack. “Can you come over and help me with my hair?” to which I replied “Does ten pounds of flour make a big-ass biscuit?” Remember now, I’ve been conditioned to believe that traversing one hundred and fifty feet and knocking on a door provided me three days worth of distraction. But this visit was different. I walked through her door and let out an audible. My little stunner had a plastic skull cap on her lovely noggin and strands of hair…baby doll plug style…were popping out from various portals. “Here, take this knitting needle and hook some hair through each hole” she said. 
To say that it was some off-putting...scary looking sh_t is an understatement. Scarier when she started scooching the frosting cream all over the exposed hirsutendrils. The experience was Frankensteinish. She declared that "after a fresh frosting, I'll be easier to find in the dark." We cooled things thereafter and one of my roomies stepped in…and actually dated Miss Frosty for the next couple of years. Ladies please...don't let your man see you like this. Ever. You might say..."but Eudell loves me...loves me for ME ... just the way I am."  Ladies, there are some things that regardless of his love for you, Eudell need not see.
So…frost-on, fellas. But realize that we are on to your game. We know the little bathing cap wearing donkey. We are on to your chemically mediated endeavor and please, don’t for a moment try to explain your tendencies. You are not to be trusted. Frosty.

Onward. Non-frosted.


Mrs. Kindergarten said...

One of your funniest posts I have read!
Started my day off with a chuckle.

Mrs. Kindergarten

Silk Regimental said...

I did it once and I ended up looking like a neon bulb! My daughter helped me do it.

My wife took me to her hairdresser and put it all back right - NEVER to do that again!!!!!!!

Anonymous said...

Maxminimus, I would propose marriage to you on this post alone, but alas, I'm already married and to a KA. Not only is this hilarious but true!

I once had to help my best friend frost her hair because her stylist had done it "unevenly." Pulling that hair through those holes was an other-worldly experience, and I'm not talking about a heavenly one either. Add to that the fact that I was a novice hair puller, and the tension was more than I could stand. Nevuh, evuh again.

You are a brave lad and a funny one, and you deserve a medal for this post.

Dieu et les Dames,


vir beātum said...

Aren't you glad that some men do this? Doesn't it actually save a lot of time? Hell, if they didn't give away that they are idiots you might actually have to spend some minutes talking to them to find out. There's nothing worse than an idiot masquerading as 'one of us'.

Kyna said...

I was flipping through TV channels the other night. I stopped because I spotted Alice Cooper on the Joy Behar Show. That was weird in itself. Shw as asked him, 'Are those your real eyebrows?' He was confused at first and then realized she was asking him if he dyed his hair, as both eyebrows and hair are still a matte black. He said, "I'm 63 years old. No 63 year old has no gray hair. I think the only honest one out there is Jimmy Page." Who has been recently sporting what I like to call the 'Doc Brown'.

My brother used to frost his hair in the 80's. His best friend's mom was a hairdresser. He'd make her do it in a little back room of the salon so no one would see. Chicks loved it, he had girls falling out of the sky. Although he'd probably die before admitting to anyone that he's ever donned one of those rubber caps.

Cecelia said...

Yep, there's nothing alluring about the process of hair coloring, no matter the technique. It should be done in a back room, away from sensitive folks.

A real barber shop with the brisk tincture smell, cryptic shaving accoutrement and hot towels, is quite a another matter.

My husband has gone to one for years, and I once got to go in, after his car battery died.

How I would have enjoyed sitting there all day, poking around, feeling the leather and chrome seats, peeking into jars.

Unfortunately, I was hustled out by my husband, rather promptly. Women are as welcomed there as curling irons.

Boy, did he look good though.

Suburban Princess said...

Oh yes...there's a reason I got to women only spas and salons. No man ever needs to see the rebuilding process. I am surprised your hottie didnt know a thing or two about mystique.

Anonymous said...

Like making laws and sausages- best not examined too closely. But that which doesn't kill us only makes us stronger.

your pal willie

JMW said...

Ugh, frosting. I can remember my mom having that done and thinking it looked like pure torture. I'm sure when I get my hair highlighted, it looks like I'm trying to channel outer space, but it's not near the practice as frosting. And when men do it, well, that's just wrong. So very wrong. By the way, I met the Food Channel's Guy Fieri (above) at a Derby event a few years ago - startling.

Anonymous said...

I dated a cute, preppy KA from GA Tech when I was at Agnes Scott College. Great group of guys...also after I left Atlanta in 1986 (five years after college), I moved to Charlotte....and spent lots of times at Sundries. My dear husband, whom I met in Charlotte in 1987, lived on Hanson Drive (just around the corner), and he and his buddies spent so much time there, they each had an account and would just pay their bills monthly! Remember the chalk board over the bar with the names of people who owed them money? LOL!! (Glad to say DH's name was never there, that I know of!)

Love your blog...and this was a GREAT post!


James said...

I'm with you on this one. I believe in the old "duck" test myself. And frosting male hair sounds like a "quack" to me.

Main Line Sportsman said...

Not only should the be-frosted man not be trusted...he should be shunned...after a proper dose of ridicule.

T said...

Bah. Hair is such an overrated commodity anyway...although I have to admit those frosting caps DO lend a certain Daryl Hannah-Blade Runneresque kink to the proceedings.

Anonymous said...

Now careful, Pilgrim!! We Diner Drive-In and Dive gals loves us our Guy Fieri. He ain't no Southern KA nancy boy doing his girlfriend's hair. Nossir. He has his deep bleach fried in a $250 salon "procedure". And you can't touch our local royalty, Lord of Balls Nicholas Graham!! He put "fuzzy" in the Dictionary when you were just a li'l feller wearin' Joe Boxer nappies.

Now Wayne and Strom are a dif blog discussion key word Eeeeiiiuuuwww


Kathie Truitt said...

I so agree with you on this! There are some things our men do NOT need to see/know about us. In 30 years of marriage the only time my husband has ever seen me without makeup is when I have been deathly ill. Even when I gave birth I fixed my hair and makeup. I don't care who judges me or thinks that is ridiculous, but mama always told me that you men are visual, and ME without makeup is, trust me, even scarier than Miss Tennessee with her frosting cap.

Preppy 101 said...

First let me say Go Vols! :-) Secondly, I am wondering how many of your younger readers had to google "frosted hair". Lastly, that Tennessee girl had certainly not been taught the ways of the Southern Belle ;-) Funny, funny post! xoxo

Britt Sudduth said...

You are right on track with this one Dude! The hair frosting gig is right in there with other thou shall nots such as don a fanny pack, wear velcro shoes or wear running tights sans shorts to cover the junk. There are others but we'll just go with these to start.

Anonymous said...

Here's my man Eric Stromer who demonstrates how to mitigate hair vanity by keeping a two-day stubble going on, all with a straight face. Here's what a frost job looks like when the hair's moving around:

LPC said...

Splutter. Splutter. Splutter. Um. Yeah, that was it. Splutter.

ilovelimegreen said...

I used to go to a fancy-schmancy shi-shi hair place across the street from Clyde's in Chevy Chase; I was always fascinated by how many men were a) there and b)what was being done to their hair in not exactly natural colors. Now I go downtown and if the men are having anything unnatural done to their hair/hair color, it's done behind closed doors.
(I once had my hair highlighted with that crochet hook/special cap and it was just agony and it took an eternity.)

The Wounded Healer said...

Right on, man.

ADG said...

Mrs. Kindergarten…Love right back at you.

Silk Regie…don’t EVER admit this again. That’s TWO confessions now, that I’ve called you on.

AnonymousElizabethKA….I’m a lot of things…but brave? Not so much. Thanks though.

vir beātumer…damn…for a moment there, I thought that you’d figured me out. Then I realized that my hair wasn’t frosted.

Kyna...Good for Alice and his honesty. Scarier yet, at 63. The story of your brother scares me.

Cecelia...” It should be done in a back room, away from sensitive folks.”….eggzackly. And YES, those classic old barber shops are great. Plaza Haircutters in Montclair NJ was my go-to place for years.

Suburban Princess...” I am surprised your hottie didnt know a thing or two about mystique.” …she was blind with passionate cravings and we were in our twenties. I was a charmer back then.

Anonymous said...” laws and sausages”…and childburf actually

JMW ...Guy Fieri is the “country music corporate contrivance” of culinary media.

Classic Preppy Girl...We overlapped one year in Charlotte. My future wife was there too…even though I never met her there. She went to Queens College. I FORGOT about the bounced check roster! Too funny. I’m gonna write a story sometime soon about my Agnes Scott crush.

James...quack quack indeed.

Main Line Sportsman...ridicule and coat burning.

T … “Blade Runneresque kink” …that’s brilliant. I’ll be using that somehow. I always thought though, that Darryl was a little “bony”

Anonymous...Guy Fieri is a “product/a contrivance”…and my nappies were J.Press.

Kathie Truitt ...How was Cyprus? Sorry.

Preppy 101... “frosted” is the only way my mind can process this thang.

Britt Sudduth... Yes indeed. I think I did a post on spandex one time. It’s an “even specific” article of clothing and if you aren’t doing said “event” you ought not be wearing it.

Flo ...I’m scared to click on that link

LPC ...I hope you are spluttering over the content of the story and not the writer.

ilovelimegreen...maybe green hair for you?

The Wounded Healer...Right on indeed.

Anonymous said...


Lands End book out today, shows two eyelet boat shoe ( with white sole, etc) in NAVY or RED, or GREEN. So far, no multicolor model available.

your pal willie

Memphis88 said...

Man, you should have immediately run for the hills when you found out she went to that no-good, backwards-ass school on the hill! Her just being a UT grad should have been plenty of warning that something wasn't right.

john said...

HA! I love it.. Another man not to trust is a guy who wears a belt with his braces. Hell he can't even trust his own pants!