No Clamp Curling Iron Technique

31

Who’s ready to witness a chick in her robe sans makeup dealing with hair appliances in her bathroom at 7 a.m.? Let’s get going!

h1.jpg
The cast of characters: A Mason Pearson brush and a good ceramic curling iron. Ladies (and gents?), there is nothing more important than a good brush. I just recently bought a new one, but the previous Mason Pearson I owned (and STILL used) was given to me when I was 8 years old. Forgive my math, but I do believe it lasted 24 years. They are worth the cashola, is all I’m sayin’. As for the curling iron, I have a Hot Tools Tourmaline Ceramic 1-inch iron. Ceramic is super important for the shine and who the hell knows what the use of tourmaline is supposed to accomplish. (Un)Fortunately, I mentally wandered off to my happy place (the one where you float on chile con queso clouds) while the ULTA sales associate was explaining it to me.

h2.jpg
Frederic Fekkai Glossing Cream and Sheer Shine Mist. I love these products, and they last forever. In fact, I just buy the travel sizes. I don’t think I could ever get through the regular ones. Plus, you can pack them in your carry-on. Am I always thinking or WHAT?

h3.jpg
Now, stop right there. Any person who, up to this point, has been thinking, “Gee, that Whoorl is quite the narcissist”, needs to take a gander at this mug shot. Will you take a look at this sorry soul? This is the face of someone who has already showered at 6:30am because their toddler decided to wake up at 5:15am READY! FOR! THE! DAY! But look at me, diggin’ in and doing it for the team. Holla!

Oh yeah, so step one. Take a shower. Towel-dry hair.

h4.jpg
Put a pea-sized drop of the glossing cream in the palm of your hand. Yes, that’s right- I don’t have man hands. The size of a pea, not a dime, a nickel or a quarter. That cream can get a leeettle on the greasy side. Rub it your palms until it warms and then work it through from the middle to the ends. While working it, look in the mirror, purr and say, “I’m worth it.”

Now, here’s a little fork in the road for everyone. I don’t blow-dry my hair unless forced. However, I know lots of you actually have to BE somewhere looking all hot and sassy in a certain amount of time. So, by all means, please blow-dry your hair at this point. You don’t need to dry it stick straight- just blow-dry while brushing to close the cuticle. (That’s right, I just sassooned you with a little hair terminology). After drying, don’t worry if your hair looks frizzy/lame/heinous/stringy. The curling iron will take care of you.

h5.jpg
Here I am about an hour later, after I completed my morning routine of:

1. Feeding toddler.
2. Cleaning up after toddler.
3. Dressing toddler.
4. Wiping toddler’s bum.
5. Contacting local black market for baby-selling opportunities.
6. Unloading dishwasher.
7. Belittling my husband.
8. Husband belittling me.
9. Drinking 1/2 cup of coffee. (With REAL caffeine! I’m crazy!)
10. Checking Google Reader, Twitter, Flickr and email.
11. Applying a little undereye concealer, mascara and blush.
12. Looking at wavy hair in mirror.

And there you go! Thanks for visiting the Whoorl Hair Photo Essay! See you next time!

Okay, so we’re not done for the purposes of this post, but 85% of the time, this is the end of the road for me. I’m a wash-n-wear kind of gal. Not today, however. Today I’ll be the Super Me. I know what you’re thinking, “What if the super you meets the super her and the super her rejects the super you?” Well, then it’s no problem because it was never you, it was just an act. I live my life like a French movie.

h1.jpg
Bring on the tools!

h6.jpg
Get your sexy brush and work it. Brush with many strokes (so if you have hair like mine, you get the waves to relax a little). Then pin about half of your hair up in a clippy thing.

h7.jpg
At this point, I realize taking photos and using a curling iron at the same time presents a challenge. Enter husband.

“Honey? I know you’re in the middle of drafting, but could I borrow you for a second?”
“Why.”
“I need you to take pictures of me curling my hair.”
“Why.”
“Because I’m doing this photo essay for Whoorl about my hair…you know, how I do it.”
“Why.”
“Because people are always asking about my hair, honey. I thought it would be funny…you know quirky kind of funny…not FUNNY, funny…I don’t think I’m some sort of comedien…comedienne? Comedienne, comedienne…wow, that word sounds kind of funny when you say it repeatedly…comedienne, cah-MEEEE-dienne, cah-meeeee-dieNNE. Heh.”

*silent, judgemental staring*

h8.jpg
Here’s the important part. Up until recently, I wasn’t very familiar with curling irons. I presumed you were supposed to clamp your hair down and then roll upwards like in high school. Stupid, stupid me. Apparently, you don’t use the clampy part at all. (Are you all shaking you heads right now? Like C’MON, everybody knows THAT!)

Basically, hold the iron parallel to your head, and starting a couple of inches from your scalp, wrap a 1-1/2 inch section of hair around the barrel (in the away-from-your-face direction). Continue wrapping up the barrel until you are holding the ends up against the iron and simultaneously trying to keep your fingers from blistering due to the 300 degree heat.

In the above photo, my perfectionist husband is taking his sweet-ass time lining up the shot to his liking, while my defenseless hair cauterizes and falls off.

h9.jpg
“WILL YOU TAKE THE PHOTO ALREADY? IT SMELLS LIKE A DAMN S’MORE IN HERE!”

h10.jpg
*hair breathes a sigh of relief, trembling*

h11.jpg
Repeat. This process shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes. Consider starting a rooster-hair trend. When curling the top layer, use much larger sections of hair to keep from looking too curling-ironish.

Here I am half-way through, thinking the bathroom light makes my skin look peachy-pretty.

h12.jpg
ACK! Natural light! Close the window shade already!

See how curling larger sections on top gives it a less perfectionist look? Because, you know, that’s me, Miss Carefree.

h13.jpg
Spray one spritz of the mist on each side of hair. Let it cool completely.

Look at clock and realize you have 20 minutes until your appointment with you-know-who. Freak out because you’re not dressed and your child is sitting in the living room naked, feasting on an electrical cord.

Yell, “SHIT!” (Just to watch your husband shudder. He does it every single time.)

h14.jpg
Dress yourself, dress your baby, shake your head and put on your new sexpot lip gloss. Take picture of final result. Preview photo, see nothing but blurry. Yell, “SHIT!” again. Take another photo.

h15.jpg
Look at photo. OCD kicks in. Hair is not looking optimal. No time to worry about it. Rush out the door and into the crazy world, spreading the hair joy. Much like a prophet.



COMMENTS (22)

Hair Apparent

48

Y’all know I’ve been working on the FAQ section lately, right? Can you guess the most popular comment/question? Go ahead, guess. Oh stop, I know what you’re thinking…my expansive knowledge of list-making, my razor-sharp wit, my brilliant commentary on environmental policies….

No?

Really? Not any of those things, huh…

Okay FINE, it’s my hair. My shallow (yet SHINY!) hair. And as much as I would like to be recognized for qualities that are admirable in the eyes of others, such is not my calling. My calling is to share the hair wealth. So, I started thinking about putting together a little hair photo essay, very smitten-esque, except instead of gazing at colorful and mouth-watering recipe preparation, you would witness a chick in her robe sans makeup dealing with hair appliances in her bathroom at 7am. Tell me, who doesn’t want to see THAT? It’s genius!

Then the doubt set in, my friends. I’ve been a little on the self-loathing track as of late. Plus, this whole “blogging is lame and narcissistic” movement that I’ve read just about EVERYWHERE. I wavered back and forth between “it would be funny and helpful” and “this might be crossing the blogging self-involvement line”.

And then I realized I don’t give a shit. The End. Let’s get on with the show!

h1.jpg
The cast of characters: A Mason Pearson brush and a good ceramic curling iron. Ladies (and gents?), there is nothing more important than a good brush. I just recently bought a new one, but the previous Mason Pearson I owned (and STILL used) was given to me when I was 8 years old. Forgive my math, but I do believe it lasted 24 years. They are worth the cashola, is all I’m sayin’. As for the curling iron, I have a Hot Tools Tourmaline Ceramic 1-inch iron. Ceramic is super important for the shine, and who the hell knows what the use of tourmaline is supposed to accomplish. (Un)Fortunately, I mentally wandered off to my happy place (the one where you float on chile con queso clouds) while the ULTA sales associate was explaining it to me.

h2.jpg
Frederic Fekkai Glossing Cream and Sheer Shine Mist. These are the only two products I use with the curling iron, and they last forever. In fact, I just buy the travel sizes. I don’t think I could ever get through the regular ones. Plus, you can pack them in your carry-on. Am I always thinking or WHAT?

h3.jpg
Now, stop right there. Any person who, up to this point, has been thinking, “Gee, that Whoorl is quite the narcissist”, needs to take a gander at this mug shot. And then blow me gently. Will you take a look at this sorry soul? This is the face of someone who has already showered at 6:30am because their internet-mascot-of-a-son decided to wake up at 5:15am READY! FOR! THE! DAY! But look at me, diggin’ in and doing it for the team. Holla!

Oh yeah, so step one. Take a shower. Towel-dry hair.

h4.jpg
Put a pea-sized drop of the glossing cream in the palm of your hand. Yes, that’s right- I don’t have man hands. The size of a pea, not a dime, a nickel or a quarter. That cream can get a leeettle on the greasy side. Rub it your palms until it warms and then work it through from the middle to the ends. While working it, look in the mirror, purr and say, “I’m worth it.”

Now, here’s a little fork in the road for everyone. I don’t blow-dry my hair unless forced. However, I know lots of you actually have to BE somewhere looking all hot and sassy in a certain amount of time. So, by all means, please blow-dry your hair at this point. You don’t need to dry it stick straight- just blow-dry while brushing to close the cuticle. (That’s right, I just sassooned you with a little hair terminology). After drying, don’t worry if your hair looks frizzy/lame/heinous/stringy. The curling iron will take care of you.

h5.jpg
Here I am about an hour later, after I completed my morning routine of:

1. Feeding Wito.
2. Cleaning up after Wito.
3. Dressing Wito.
4. Wiping Wito’s bum.
5. Contacting local black market for baby-selling opportunities.
6. Unloading dishwasher.
7. Belittling my husband.
8. Husband belittling me.
9. Drinking 1/2 cup of coffee. (With REAL caffeine! I’m crazy!)
10. Checking Google Reader, Twitter, Flickr and email.
11. Applying a little undereye concealer, mascara and blush.
12. Looking at wavy hair in mirror.

And there you go! Thanks for visiting the Whoorl Hair Photo Essay! See you next time!

Okay, so we’re not done for the purposes of this post, but 85% of the time, this is the end of the road for me. I’m a wash-n-wear kind of gal. Not today, however. Today I’ll be the Super Me. I know what you’re thinking, “What if the super you meets the super her and the super her rejects the super you?” Well, then it’s no problem because it was never you, it was just an act. I live my life like a French movie.

h1.jpg
Bring on the tools!

h6.jpg
Get your sexy brush and work it. Brush with many strokes (so if you have hair like mine, you get the waves to relax a little). Then pin about half of your hair up in a clippy thing.

h7.jpg
At this point, I realize taking photos and using a curling iron at the same time presents a challenge. Enter husband.

“Honey? I know you’re in the middle of drafting, but could I borrow you for a second?”
“Why.”
“I need you to take pictures of me curling my hair.”
“Why.”
“Because I’m doing this photo essay for Whoorl about my hair…you know, how I do it.”
“Why.”
“Because people are always asking about my hair, honey. I thought it would be funny…you know quirky kind of funny…not FUNNY, funny…I don’t think I’m some sort of comedien…comedienne? Comedienne, comedienne…wow, that word sounds kind of funny when you say it repeatedly…comedienne, cah-MEEEE-dienne, cah-meeeee-dieNNE. Heh.”

*silent, judgemental staring*

h8.jpg
Here’s the important part. Up until recently, I wasn’t very familiar with curling irons. I presumed you were supposed to clamp your hair down and then roll upwards like in high school. Stupid, stupid me. Apparently, you don’t use the clampy part at all. (Are you all shaking you heads right now? Like C’MON, everybody knows THAT!)

Basically, hold the iron parallel to your head, and starting a couple of inches from your scalp, wrap a 1-1/2 inch section of hair around the barrel (in the away-from-your-face direction). Continue wrapping up the barrel until you are holding the ends up against the iron and simultaneously trying to keep your fingers from blistering due to the 300 degree heat.

In the above photo, my perfectionist husband is taking his sweet-ass time lining up the shot to his liking, while my defenseless hair cauterizes and falls off.

h9.jpg
“WILL YOU TAKE THE PHOTO ALREADY? IT SMELLS LIKE A DAMN S’MORE IN HERE!”

h10.jpg
*hair breathes a sigh of relief, trembling*

h11.jpg
Repeat. This process shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes. Consider starting a rooster-hair trend. When curling the top layer, use much larger sections of hair to keep from looking too curling-ironish.

Here I am half-way through, thinking the bathroom light makes my skin look peachy-pretty.

h12.jpg
ACK! Natural light! Close the window shade already!

See how curling larger sections on top gives it a less perfectionist look? Because, you know, that’s me, Miss Carefree.

h13.jpg
Spray one spritz of the mist on each side of hair. Let it cool completely.

Look at clock and realize you have 20 minutes until your appointment with you-know-who. Freak out because you’re not dressed and your child is sitting in the living room naked, feasting on an electrical cord.

Yell, “FUCK!” (Just to watch your husband shudder. He does it every single time.)

h14.jpg
Dress yourself, dress your baby, shake your head and put on your new sexpot lip gloss. Take picture of final result. Preview photo, see nothing but blurry. Yell, “FUCK!” again. Take another photo.

h15.jpg
Look at photo. OCD kicks in. Hair is not looking optimal. No time to worry about it. Rush out the door and into the crazy world, spreading the hair joy. Much like a prophet.



COMMENTS (46)

A Profound Sunday Morning

3

“Sometimes, I think the everything bagels are baked with the cinnamon bagels.”

“Why? Because you can taste the cinnamon?”

“No…it’s not that I taste the cinnamon…I sense the cinnamon.”

“Wow. Okay then.”



COMMENTS (3)

Blogeriffic! Blogtabulous! Blogtastic!

18

visit_g.gif

I had the distinct pleasure of hanging out with my girls this weekend. We go way back, way before blogging and twittering and instant messaging. Oh, and speaking of Twitter, I must say sometimes I find myself doubting the whole deal, but then something like this pops up on my screen and I’m like, DAMN I LOVE TWITTER.

“Guy next to me on train has used a label maker to display “Uncle Vinegar Tits” on his wallet. Send help.”

Metalia, you are one funny lady friend.

Back to my point. In those days, email was merely a twinkle in the internet’s eye. Christ, cellular phones had barely made the scene. Mine weighed 45 pounds and cost 6,000 dollars a minute. Did it not SUCK having to use pay phones? Sweet Jebus. You can imagine my germy disdain. We would drive around aimlessly until curfew looking for our friends, who consequently were driving around looking for us. If we had Google’s satellite map technology back then…MAN! Kids these days, they’ve got it SO easy.

So anyway, driving the night away. Listening to The Cure, The Smiths, Echo and The Bunnymen, Happy Mondays, and occasionally stopping off at a particular convenience store, where we would pay cash in return for a well-hidden 6-pack of beer behind the dumpsters. Ah, the good ol’ days.

Many, many years have passed, but we are still the same (including my storytelling! complete with hand gestures!). Oh, except we all have websites. How bizarre is that? So, go say hello to Little Miss Mel and Caroline.

In other news, I met another fabulous blogger for drinks on Tuesday. She’s a fellow lip gloss aficionado, which obviously, is tops in my book. It also didn’t hurt that we dished out our gory birthing stories within the first hour of meeting one another. She’s my kind of gal.

This blogging gig, isn’t it swell?



COMMENTS (18)