A Work in
Progress
By Shelly Belcher
Falling For the
Dream
My search for satisfaction in
a bottle of Paul Mitchell Sculpting Foam
My primary goal in
life over the past several years has been to get a fabulous
haircut. I’ve had plenty of good haircuts, but never the cut
that makes my girlfriends envious, which is the true goal of all
women.
I have several
different kinds of conditioners, gels, glazes, and pomades, and
none of them has made me the envy of womankind. I change stylists
more often than I change my socks, but the holy grail of fabulous
hair eludes me.
While sifting through
some old family photos recently, I had a bit of an epiphany. Could
it be that the stylists, the cowlicks in my hair, and the lack of
a styling crème that separates without being sticky may not be my
real problem?
After the birth of my
daughters, I have been struggling to lose the dreaded baby weight
that seems determined to hang around. Like many red-blooded
Americans, I want instant gratification. Instead of dieting and
exercising regularly, I am perfectly willing to blame clothing
manufacturers and hairstylists for my lack of total satisfaction
with my appearance.
After all, someone has
to be at fault, and it clearly isn’t me. According to one
television commercial, there is likely some pesky hormone that has
done me wrong. It couldn’t be the canister of Pringles that I
downed in one sitting. It couldn’t be the three slices of pizza
with pepperoni and sausage. It’s not my fault, they even had a
doctor on the commercial who said so.
I must pause to share
my admiration for these quick-fix people and their products. They
are geniuses and businessmen of the highest caliber. American
consumers are practically falling over each other to hand them our
money and to prove that what we’ve secretly hoped all along is
true – you don’t lose weight through diet and exercise, you
lose it by taking one little miracle pill. Two months later, you
have a better job, a better looking spouse, and your kids will
behave all the time.
And the search for the
purchasable happiness, for that product that will finally make you
the beautiful, dynamic person that you know you are, isn’t
limited to the weight-loss industry. These ideas are everywhere.
At the Home Show last
year, my husband and I marveled at the number of people walking
around with brand new mops – mops that were promised to
revolutionize the way you clean your house. People were even
buying multiple mops as gifts for friends and family.
Another favorite of
mine are the commercials that promise paychecks in the six figures
while working minimal hours and never having to change out of your
pajamas. There are images of expensive cars, million dollar homes,
fabulous vacations, but no mention of what this magical occupation
really is.
While we may be quick
to dismiss many of these items we see on television and in the
stores as scams and hoaxes, some of them are actually good
ideas.
f you were to buy the
new tread-climber they show on that infomercial and actually use
it three days a week, you would probably improve your physical
fitness and you might even lose a few pounds.
If you took your
miracle mop out of the plastic wrap and used it twice a week, your
floors would be clean. This would indeed revolutionize the
cleanliness of my home. A rag and a bucket full of ammonia would
do the same, but you won’t see a booth for that at the home
show.
My mind knows that
there is no substitute for hard work, but my soul longs for the
easy way out. I want the body of a movie star, the hair of a
Clairol model, and the floors of, well, anybody in a Swiffer
commercial.
And while you may sit
back and scoff, certain that you are too savvy a consumer to fall
for any of these ideas, I say you’re wrong.
We all have our
weaknesses. My mother has a fetish for cooking utensils, my cousin
capitulated and bought one of the miracle mops, and my bathroom is
testament to my own weakness for hair supplies.
Open up your own
bathroom cabinet, closet door or kitchen cabinet and take a good
hard look at what you’re hoarding. Somewhere along the line, you’ve
fallen for the dream.
Hi, my name is Shelly,
and I am addicted to hair products. Knowing you have a problem is
the first step towards a cure.
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