By Leica Carpo, Publisher
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

THE WILDEST thing I ever did with my hair was color it myself — not with the pretty packaged supermarket-bought hair color but with my own concoction of petroleum jelly and crushed metallic blue eye shadow. I was a “punk” and it seemed like the edgy thing to do at the time. Needless to say, the result was dead cool and sufficiently fierce as to earn me the rep of “punk princess.”

My signature spiky haphazardly shorn bluish tinged locks were my way of rebelling against the long black straight hair of the time. I was a controlled rebel because though I loved dancing until dawn and drinking alcohol, I kept that GPA up and never got into drugs, smoking or Mohawks. I will always remember the “shock” I caused among my pretty long straight haired classmates when I first arrived at the quadrangle with my cropped short. I enjoyed that moment immensely.

But the craziest hair moment I have had was not something I did to my own hair but to my friend Maru. She had beautiful wavy shoulder length hair which, during a mad moment of post break-up grief, she allowed me to chop up to scalp length with a pair of house scissors! She sported a couple of bald spots for months after that which, strangely enough, did not wreck our friendship but strengthened it.

The ugliest hair moment I have been witness to was my own. This was when I decided to try curls. My hair was shoulder length and in a moment of indecision and weakness, I let my hairdresser have free rein. A bad idea if he/she is not your regular trusted stylist. Trust me, all sorts of hair fantasies a.k.a. potential hair nightmares are lurking beneath their innocent smiles and skillful scissors. I don’t remember what I was thinking but suffice it to say that I am grateful no trace of that era remains in any of my albums or mental Rolodex.

Because I kept my hair short for years, by the time I grew it to its current length five or six inches past my shoulder, I did not own a brush nor had I developed styling skills that seem innate among all Filipino women with long hair. So I often find myself defaulting to a high ponytail or a neat bun for all occasions — from a dip in the pool to a glamorous society ball.

I realize that women’s obsession with beautifully groomed hair is not just about looking good to attract or please the opposite sex; it’s also about feeling good about oneself and is associated with self-worth. With this in mind, the more mature me should be choosing long silky lustrous hair and not a wild and tangled carefree mane. But mature me rebels and chooses the latter. I may have graduated to pre-packaged hair color and salon cuts, but I realize that my inner punk rock princess will never die.

Editor’s note: As you can see from the photos, the author sports the same hairstyle for formal affairs and a race.

For more tangled tales and other hairy stories, check out the April 20 issue of the Sunday Inquirer Magazine.