I was telling my friend, Rodney about MY cousin (on Dad's side) Tyra. After I told the story, and he busted a gut laughing, he suggested I share it here. Picture this, it's the 90's and Tyra Fowler was at the top of her game. Being a hair stylist was a natural way for her to express her creative side. Between weaving, braiding, cutting and COLORING, she could take the most jacked up head and make it hot as fish grease. With that said, let me tell the story. I don't remember the actor, but it was the early nineties and this brutha had colored his hair. It worked for him and I thought it would work for me. I wanted to be current with the latest trends and asked Tyra to hook me up. She agreed and the appointment was made. On the appointed day, Miss Fine and Beautiful (that was my nickname for her) applied the permanent color to my hair. She said it would take a little time for the color to take effect. We sat and talked, laughed and did what we normally would do -- enjoy the other's company. After an EXTENDED period of time, it was time to head to the bowl. Tyra was quiet throughout the entire process. That was odd, but I didn't push the issue. Tyra placed a towel over my head and said, "Uh, it's not quite the way you wanted it, but I can fix it." [Sidebar -- my cousin was one helluva stylist. She was human, which means she made mistakes.] Every man, woman and child knows those are not the words you want to hear when someone is working on your hair. As a matter of fact, those would be fightin words. I said, "What does that mean; you can fix it? Is it that bad???" I looked in the mirror with a towel covering my hair. I had no idea how it looked. Actually, I was scared to look. Tyra didn't want to keep me in suspense any longer and snatched to towel from my head. It wasn't quite as RED-ORANGE as Lucille Ball's hair, but it wasn't too far off. I had a color that would not work for me. Hell, that wouldn't work on any Black person. Maybe if they were a circus performer and that's pushing it. "Oh my God! I look like Lucy! This is NOT what I wanted, Tyra! I can't go to work tomorrow looking like this!" Miss Fine and Beautiful flashed her mega-watt smile and said, "We'll cover it with a black rinse. It will be slightly darker than your normal hair color, but no one will notice." Hey, I was in no position to argue. At this point in the game I was willing to try anything. Once the rinse was applied and my hair was dried, I took a look in the mirror. In a matter of minutes, I was transformed from "Lucille Ball" red-orange hair to "Elvis Presley" jet black hair. I liked both of them, I never, never, never, never, NEVER wanted my hair color to be like theirs. She did as she said, she "fixed" my hair. I was satisfied. I wish that was the end of the story, but it's not. A few days later (I don't remember the exact number -- it may have been a week) I washed my hair. Bending over the sink to wash my hair, I opened my eyes to see the jet black shampoo in the sink. My temporary hair color was proving to be that -- temporary. It was quickly going down the drain. I PANICKED!!! I had not looked in the mirror, but felt I had washed all the "Elvis Presley" from my hair and it was the bright shade of "Lucille Ball" I didn't want. After some hesitation I looked into the mirror to assess the damage. I was totally surprised. Some, but not all of the black had washed out. I thought it looked good. I walked around with that feeling for a few days. I liked the results and Tyra commented on how it looked. "I like the color of your hair. That works for you." Everyone was happy as pigs in shit. You know happiness is just a state of mind. The next time I washed my hair more of the black rinsed out. So much, that the red begin to come thru in a way that did not work for me. It was too damned red for me. I phoned Tyra in a panic and told her I needed an emergency haircut, a.s.a.p. and p.d.q! When she saw me she said, "Oh, the black rinse didn't stay in your hair as long as I thought it would." "No shit, Sherlock! Start cutting," I said. Miss Fine and Beautiful was able to "make the best a bad situation." Without going bald, she cut my hair low. My greatest fear was eliminated -- I COULD go to work the next day. From that point on it was just haircuts -- nothing more. I was done with trying to be trendy or current with hair color. I want to thank Rodney. Had we not laughed our asses off when I told him this story (with a special shout out to Dad, for the receding hairline which prompted the telling of this story), there would not have been this post today. "HEY RODNEY, this was a good idea. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
I was telling my friend, Rodney about MY cousin (on Dad's side) Tyra. After I told the story, and he busted a gut laughing, he suggested I share it here. Picture this, it's the 90's and Tyra Fowler was at the top of her game. Being a hair stylist was a natural way for her to express her creative side. Between weaving, braiding, cutting and COLORING, she could take the most jacked up head and make it hot as fish grease. With that said, let me tell the story. I don't remember the actor, but it was the early nineties and this brutha had colored his hair. It worked for him and I thought it would work for me. I wanted to be current with the latest trends and asked Tyra to hook me up. She agreed and the appointment was made. On the appointed day, Miss Fine and Beautiful (that was my nickname for her) applied the permanent color to my hair. She said it would take a little time for the color to take effect. We sat and talked, laughed and did what we normally would do -- enjoy the other's company. After an EXTENDED period of time, it was time to head to the bowl. Tyra was quiet throughout the entire process. That was odd, but I didn't push the issue. Tyra placed a towel over my head and said, "Uh, it's not quite the way you wanted it, but I can fix it." [Sidebar -- my cousin was one helluva stylist. She was human, which means she made mistakes.] Every man, woman and child knows those are not the words you want to hear when someone is working on your hair. As a matter of fact, those would be fightin words. I said, "What does that mean; you can fix it? Is it that bad???" I looked in the mirror with a towel covering my hair. I had no idea how it looked. Actually, I was scared to look. Tyra didn't want to keep me in suspense any longer and snatched to towel from my head. It wasn't quite as RED-ORANGE as Lucille Ball's hair, but it wasn't too far off. I had a color that would not work for me. Hell, that wouldn't work on any Black person. Maybe if they were a circus performer and that's pushing it. "Oh my God! I look like Lucy! This is NOT what I wanted, Tyra! I can't go to work tomorrow looking like this!" Miss Fine and Beautiful flashed her mega-watt smile and said, "We'll cover it with a black rinse. It will be slightly darker than your normal hair color, but no one will notice." Hey, I was in no position to argue. At this point in the game I was willing to try anything. Once the rinse was applied and my hair was dried, I took a look in the mirror. In a matter of minutes, I was transformed from "Lucille Ball" red-orange hair to "Elvis Presley" jet black hair. I liked both of them, I never, never, never, never, NEVER wanted my hair color to be like theirs. She did as she said, she "fixed" my hair. I was satisfied. I wish that was the end of the story, but it's not. A few days later (I don't remember the exact number -- it may have been a week) I washed my hair. Bending over the sink to wash my hair, I opened my eyes to see the jet black shampoo in the sink. My temporary hair color was proving to be that -- temporary. It was quickly going down the drain. I PANICKED!!! I had not looked in the mirror, but felt I had washed all the "Elvis Presley" from my hair and it was the bright shade of "Lucille Ball" I didn't want. After some hesitation I looked into the mirror to assess the damage. I was totally surprised. Some, but not all of the black had washed out. I thought it looked good. I walked around with that feeling for a few days. I liked the results and Tyra commented on how it looked. "I like the color of your hair. That works for you." Everyone was happy as pigs in shit. You know happiness is just a state of mind. The next time I washed my hair more of the black rinsed out. So much, that the red begin to come thru in a way that did not work for me. It was too damned red for me. I phoned Tyra in a panic and told her I needed an emergency haircut, a.s.a.p. and p.d.q! When she saw me she said, "Oh, the black rinse didn't stay in your hair as long as I thought it would." "No shit, Sherlock! Start cutting," I said. Miss Fine and Beautiful was able to "make the best a bad situation." Without going bald, she cut my hair low. My greatest fear was eliminated -- I COULD go to work the next day. From that point on it was just haircuts -- nothing more. I was done with trying to be trendy or current with hair color. I want to thank Rodney. Had we not laughed our asses off when I told him this story (with a special shout out to Dad, for the receding hairline which prompted the telling of this story), there would not have been this post today. "HEY RODNEY, this was a good idea. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
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