Wind Back Wednesday: My First Time …

ghk-debra-messing-curly-hg-lgnDying my hair … ya pervs.

The reason why I’m reminiscing about this is because I’ve faced the horrific fact today that for the first time :::sigh::: I am dying my hair tonight NOT for funsies, but because my gray hair is out of control :::Weeps softly:::. So in an effort to make myself not feel like an old bag, I decided to reflect upon a time when dying my hair was fun and exciting … not a task on the good ol’ “to-do” list.

I was 17, kicking off my senior year in high school, and loathing everything. I hated my classes, I hated my after-school job, I hated the process of applying to college, I hated my car … I mean you get the idea. I think this was all because I was overwhelmed with how drastically different my life was about to become, and this is how I apparently dealt with denial. So what did I do to make myself feel better? Dye my virgin hair … clearly.

Naturally I have a chestnut-ish brown hair color. I found it yawn-worthy and wanted to add a touch of red to it. Just a touch. Red? I know, scary, right? I was terrified. I was excited. But when the dying was done, it looked exactly the same as my nature color. I was devastated to say the least and sobbed the night away. Yep, teenager problems.

True, that was my first hair dying experience, but I consider my second experience the real deal. A few months later, after I had just turned 18, I went back for another try. This time instead of saying, “just a little hint of red, a little touch, nothing crazy,” I said something like red brown-ish (aren’t I good with descriptions). He slathered my head with dye, and after a couple of minutes I began to feel my scalp burning. Hmm … I just assumed this was normal.

Note: My friends had planned a surprise birthday party for me that evening, but at the time knew nothing besides “be ready at 7.”

When I sat down in the chair after washing the dye out, I noticed my roots were quite bright. Hmmm. Something a little shocking, but I said, hey, at least it’s different this time, right? As he began the process of blowing out my hair, I saw it getting redder, and redder … and redder. The more it dried, the more my eyes filled with tears, until I looked in the mirror and realized, “holy fuck, I’m Debra Messing.” No longer was I a brunette, I was a straight up, horrific red head. Again … instead of freaking out and punching my hair dresser square in the face, I sucked back tears, told him, “ahh I love it,” lip quivering, and sulked home.

My mom tried to console me by telling me how fierce I looked, but it didn’t help. I had just spent all of my birthday money on a new hair color that made me look like the worst version of myself. Years later she would tell me it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever done to myself. So much for honesty, right? And that evening, my best friends threw me a surprise party, and when I entered, the record screeched … clearly due to the fact that my hair was … yes … red. Like there isn’t even an embarrassing photo to show you because I refused to be documented during this time.

Good times, right? I still get insane urges to dye my hair different colors, like recently blonde crossed my mind. And then I think about that pit in my stomach I got when I realized my hair dressed had just bleached my hair red and destroyed me, and then I come to my senses.

With that being said, this is how I roll now:

HCo15_1

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Wind Back Wednesdays: Old School Oscar Fashion

largeDid you know there was a time when red carpets weren’t cluttered with annoying entertainment reporters asking idiotic questions and making movie stars do ridiculous things like walk their hands down the “Mani Cam” and make themselves look like fools in the “360 Cam”? GASP …  I know, right? Can you imagine Audrey Hepburn jumping in mid-air in the “360 cam”? Umm no. I imagine she would have told Guiliana Rancic, “Sorry darling, my one of a kind dress just isn’t made for absurd things of such. Perhaps another time, yes?” :::flings mink stole over her shoulder:::

Sometimes I feel like our minds won’t go beyond 1970. For the young generation upon us … what are they calling them, like Generation Z squared or something? You know the ones who were handed an iPhone instead of a bottle (ba dum CHICK) THANK YOU I’LL BE HERE ALL NIGHT! No but seriously, we are stuck on what Nicole Kidman wore in 1995 and the smashing, yet scandalous, dress Halle Berry wore to accept her award in 2002.

You know what? I’m taking it back, WAY back, to 1940’s. Oh yeah. When women wore proper gloves and to-die-for mink stoles. When the glamor of REAL Hollywood thrived. When actresses weren’t going for the shock factor, but instead appreciated a divine dress that made them radiate from the inside out. Conservative? Yes. Timeless? Absolutely. But let me tell you, the main question on the red carpet wasn’t, “who are you wearing?”

There is something to the simplicity of these looks that just make them that more spectacular and something to emulate. We are so used to thigh high slits and crazytown hairstyles that we forget sometimes that a slicked back chignon and a red lip will have that same wow-factor.

These women weren’t just iconic, but I believe they defined true beauty. And the sad part is the farther away from the year they won the Oscar, the more we tend to forget about them. Well not up in here … NOT … up in here.

Below I would like to pay homage to the real women of the Academy Awards. Who had real bodies, a handsome man on their arm (hello, Frank Sinatra … rar. Sigh … they just don’t make gentlemen like that anymore), and appreciated the beauty of true fashion.

 Natalie Wood 1955

Hunter Wood

Loretta Young 1947

Young

Joanne Woodward 1958

WOODWARD WINS OSCAR

Vivien Leigh 1940

AP I USA SELZNICK WITH VIVIEN LEIGH

Audrey Hepburn 1954

1954

Grace Kelly, Jo Van Fleet, Marisa Pavan 1956

Kelly

Ginger Rogers 1941

Ginger Rogers Jimmy Stewart

Sophia Loren 1958

Loren Lean

*All photos came from: http://photos.newhavenregister.com/2012/02/26/photos-history-of-the-oscars-movie-stars-of-the-1940s-and-1950s#15

Wind Back Wednesday: Steve Madden Platforms

adv_0978I randomly stumbled upon a cassette tape, yes a cassette tape, of the epic album, No Strings Attached, by the talented band once known as N’SYNC. It’s funny, I can’t remember what I did yesterday, but I sure do know every lyric to “Digital Get Down.”

But finding that cassette tape not only made me feel ridiculously old, but it sent me down memory lane to a simpler time when I was 13. When IMing my crush was the biggest drama I had in my life. When rushing only happened after school so I didn’t miss a drop of TRL (Carson Daily, swoon). And when my mother should have probably owned stock in Steve Madden shoes since I was obsessed.

When I was 13, it was 2000, and every girl had these Steve Maddens:

41RCHUDzCVLOh come now, you know you had a pair, too. You either got the two inch platforms, or the four inch … I always wanted the four but being a 13-year-old who was already 5’8, I decided it was a bad idea since all the boys I liked were hardly pushing five feet. And the Steve Madden logo on the back of the shoe ALWAYS fell off … ALWAYS, leading me to have to super glue it back on so people knew they were legit Steve Maddens. It was a BIG to do.

But those white platforms were my Steve Madden gateway drug. I couldn’t stop after that. When I finally got a computer AND the interwebs (which was AOL, clearly … hi, I’m old), I would stalk the Steve Madden website for new styles, and drool over them whilst walking through Macy’s. And some how my mom was crazy enough to buy me the styles I wanted … which looking back were HEI-NOUS. No, beyond heinous. I don’t know who I thought I was … just kidding, I know who I thought I was … Britney Spears … duh.

Seriously though, each pair my mom bought me had a three plus inch platform, and I’m pretty sure were made for the sole purpose of strippers using them whilst working the pole. But I coveted them like they were Manolo Blahniks. I would line them up perfectly in my closet and drag my fingers over them lightly, humming and daydreaming. I never REALLY wore them, though because like I said, I was a 13-year-old who was 5’8 … hence if I DID wear them I turned into gangly gigantor with a palate expander and braces. So basically I wore them in my room or in my basement trying to learn the moves to the new Britney Spears video. Yep. Enjoy that visual.

I wish I could find pictures of the sweet platforms I once owned, but alas the interwebs must have banned them due to their ugliness, for I could not find a drop of evidence that they even existed. I’ll leave you with this visual, though: White patent leather with a black four inch sole. Boom.