I think of hairdressers the way some people think of doctors -- all-knowing, all-powerful deities who are NOT to be questioned. I know I like a thick bang, and I would cry 1,000 hours if someone cruelly pixie-cutted me in the night, but beyond that I'm pretty much like, "You're the professional."
So when the amazing Q at Bumble and Bumble held up my wispy ends and told me "This fried shit has got to go," I trusted his expertise. I mean, do you know what kind of intense old-timey shit hairdressers have to do in their certification exams? FINGER WAVES! They still make them prove they can do finger waves, like it's 1922 and talkies are about to hit big.
And actually, I love the shorter do so much I'm thinking about going full-on Yayoi Kusama fashion bob in the coming months. But when Julie gave me the Sultra Bombshell Oval Rod Curling Iron (available in August), I found my in-the-meantime style inspiration -- this thing gives you curls like Drew Barrymore circa 1998 (post-Playboy cover and David Letterman flashing, right around the time she was on the cover of the first Jane mag).
I had to look up a video tutorial to figure out how to use the Bombshell oval rod, but basically you put on one of those dorky heat gloves and place the curling iron near the root before wrapping your hair around the rod. Then you sort of cup the whole thing in your hand for 10 seconds and slide the iron out before releasing the curl. It makes these really cute zigzaggy curls that hold really well and it takes like 5-10 minutes, tops.
I did mine at my desk this morning and almost certainly could have done a better job, but Jane came in and instantly said "You've got Drew Barrymore hair!" before I even told her what I was going for.
And of course, in true Drew-Barrymore-circa-1998 fashion, these curls make the perfect nest in which to perch a couple of clip-in daisies -- I buy mine here. On a related note, I think the Drew Barrymore of my youth may be the subtle inspiration for my current love of daisies, to the extent that they feature prominently in my tattoo sleeve.
That one on my upper inner arm was the most painful piece of work on my entire body. Every time I see it, I think simultaneously, "Oooh, pretty" and "What an asshole."
What's your favorite Drew? "Poison Ivy"-era Drew was also MAJOR. I don't usually toss around annoying, fashion-y words like that, but it just seemed right here. (All the fashion boys were saying major instead of fierce a few months ago, although they may be on to something else now.)
On a related note, people have been comparing me to Drew my whole life because of my slight lisp. I guess we both have large, cow-like tongues. Call me, girl!