Alfalfa Bang Requires Respect

An update from the ongoing experiment formerly known as Type Straw

When I wrote about my hair journey the first time, I was still in the stage of cautiously poking it with a stick and asking, “So… are we wavy?”

Apparently the answer was:

Yes. Very. Also, one of us will be standing vertically from now on.

Enter Alfalfa Bang.

Alfalfa Bang began as one tiny section of hair near the front of my head that simply refused to acknowledge gravity. At first, naturally, I assumed this was a problem. Surely I had dried it wrong. Maybe I slept on it strangely. Maybe I needed to wet it back down. Maybe I needed to redirect it. Maybe I could gently convince it to rejoin polite society.

I tried.

Alfalfa Bang returned.

I wet her. She returned. I plopped my hair. She returned. I slept in a satin bonnet. She came back stronger. At some point, I stopped trying to fix Alfalfa Bang and started defending her. Someone reaches toward my forehead now?

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Do not touch her. She has a name. She requires respect.

Meanwhile, the Rest of My Hair Has Apparently Been Plotting

The funniest part is that while Alfalfa Bang was establishing sovereignty, the rest of my hair was quietly becoming… actually nice?

Like, really nice.

A few weeks ago I was still dealing with what I affectionately named Type Straw: hair that somehow managed to be coarse, fuzzy, tangled, dry-feeling, and deeply suspicious of water all at the same time. Now I’m getting actual ringlets. Not theoretical curls. Not “maybe if I squint this is a wave.”

I mean full little spirals that I can pick up and stretch and then watch curl back into themselves. One side of my head remains significantly more cooperative than the other, because apparently symmetry would be too easy.

My right side has discovered a beautiful, organized curl pattern.

My left side has discovered free will.

But even the chaotic side looks dramatically better than it did when I wrote the first post. Then somehow today it looked even better.

Looking back at the photos from my first hair post compared with these is kind of ridiculous. There was curl hiding in there this entire time. It just apparently needed me to stop bullying it.

The Hair Laboratory Expands

Naturally, once I realized my hair was actually responding to all of this, I did what any reasonable person would do. I started buying products. Not twenty-seven different miracle treatments. Actual useful things.

I ordered root-lifting clips because my curls apparently enjoy forming while my roots enjoy lying completely flat. I ordered a continuous mist bottle so I can reset individual curls without soaking my entire head. I ordered a lightweight curl foam because my current mousse works well but smells strongly like coconut, which is not exactly a Becca’s favorite. I ordered tiny butterfly clips because obviously. And I ordered periwinkle satin scrunchies because if I am going to protect my curls overnight, I may as well do it in the correct color.

There is also now a chelating shampoo on its way for occasional hard-water mineral buildup, which is a sentence I never expected to care about this much. I spent an embarrassingly long time repeatedly forgetting the word chelating, so there’s that.

Current Scientific Findings

At this point, my highly rigorous research has established the following:

My hair likes conditioner. My hair does not seem to enjoy being protein-bombed. It likes being styled while very wet. It likes mousse. It likes being scrunched from several directions. It likes plopping. My roots apparently do not care for remaining trapped in the plop all night, because that results in excellent curls and roots shaped like abstract sculpture. However, my curl pattern? It LOVES it.

Kinda contradictory right?

But, It enjoys satin. It enjoys confusing me. And one single bang has become completely untouchable. Most importantly, I am finally starting to understand the difference between trying to make my hair behave and actually learning how it behaves.

The first approach gave me Type Straw. The second gave me actual waves and ringlets.

And Alfalfa Bang.

Honestly?

I’ll take her.

Exhibit A: Gravity Is Still Optional

At this point she isn’t a styling mistake. She’s part of the ecosystem. She has survived repeated attempts at intervention. She has persisted through water, mousse, plopping, sleeping, bonnets, and basic Newtonian physics.

So if you ever see me in public with one bang sticking proudly toward the ceiling, please understand:

I know.

I can see her.

She is there on purpose now.

Please do not attempt repairs.