It's gonna get sappy up in here.
Daddy issues be damned, one would be hard-pressed to find a relationship in the average girl’s life more contentious than that of herself and her hair. A shrink could make a living off of the poignant struggles that accompany the untamable curls, the limp locks, the dead ends, the brassy highlights. Only now that I am confident in my own routine can I own up to the fact that my emotionally taxing grudge against Taylor Swift may have been solely based on hair envy.
I am only a relatively recent convert to the natural hair thing. I strictly (and unnecessarily) flat-ironed my (already stick-straight) hair through high school because I like primping, hanging out in my bathroom, and listening to Aqua (there really has not been any other excusable situation since 2001 in which to indulge in some Aqua). Much to my delight, I discovered the more often I straightened my hair, the frizzier and duller it became. I relished the legitimacy this gave my otherwise futile morning ritual.
And then I moved to New York, became a model, and all my hair fell off.
Once, during Fashion Week, my hair was braided, soaked with water, and promptly fried with a steaming flatiron. At the following presentation, the look was “aggressively teased.” When I asked the head stylist how I should take it out that night, he somberly pressed his cheek to mine and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
So, this is not meant to be a lecture about embracing your God-given locks. Rather, it is a testament to the miracle I discovered as I sobbed my way through the cosmetics aisle of CVS later that night, neurotically stroking the nine strands of remaining hair on my head and comfort-devouring a McFlurry (I am lactose intolerant; the dark spiral of poor life decisions prompted by a hostile hair relationship is merciless). Alas, in the wise words of French philosopher Jean de La Bruyere, “out of difficulties grow miracles.” I am pretty sure he was referring to my whole existential crisis in the shampoo aisle, because it was in that moment of lament that I discovered Shea Moisture Shampoo, my gleaming, organic beacon of hope.
Shea Moisture may be the least pretty bottle on your bathroom shelf but I swear to you, it is worth it. You know how trendy it is right now to go “sulfate free?” Shea Moisture goes above and beyond, and is totally void of parabens, phthalates, paraffin, formaldehyde, petrolatum, synthetic fragrances, artificial colors, and anything else that could possibly dry, irritate, or aggravate your scalp. The end result is an entirely plant-based shampoo that delivers moisturizing and soothing relief from the torrent of heat styling we are so addicted to. They do not claim to heal split ends, or “revitalize” your color, or make any other tempting assertions on which they cannot deliver. The focus is on providing gentle and conditioning cleansing without the additives that cause dryness and breakage. The main ingredient is raw Shea butter, which is intensely moisturizing and softening, closely followed by the new darling of the beauty industry, Argan oil, for shine. It is also packed with coconut oil, sea kelp, vitamins, avocado oil, and a plethora of other dream hair oils and minerals.
I know. Breaking up with your current shampoo seems unfathomable. However, based upon personal experience as well as the testimonies of the peers I have bullied into making the switch, Shea Moisture will leave you with the voluminous, soft, and gleaming hair of, like, Rapunzel. Take it from a girl who was pretty much scalped at New York Fashion Week; Shea Moisture Shampoo is the miracle you are seeking.
Reprinted with permission from The Style Con. Want more?