Everything’s bigger in Texas, especially the hair

By Janna Lewis, Sentinel Staff
February 12, 2009 Leisure

The first time I heard the term “big hair” in reference to Texas women, it made no sense to me. How the heck can hair be big? Hair is hair. It’s short or it’s long…or somewhere in between, right? But then, I’m from Texas. And I was born during a decade when “big hair” meant the perfect beehive hairdo. To me, that was just what a woman’s hair looked like. My father’s sister, Susan, had the most perfect beehive do ever. Their sister-in-law, Linda, rivaled her, surpassing Susan only in the variety of colors in which her beehive dos appeared. Aunt Susan and Aunt Linda were my role-models. I copied everything they did from the time I was old enough to grasp what it meant to be a woman in Texas, except that beehive. At age 5, I hadn’t quite mastered the engineering talent to pile my hair on top of my head like that and make it stay, even with copious amounts of hairspray.

By the time Texas girls are in middle school, we are experts in hair care products. We know how hairspray works from the time we are in kindergarten. We also know how to torch a giant centipede with it. That sounds cruel, but in Texas, especially Central and South Texas, those giant centipedes are big and aggressive. They like to ball themselves up in wet bath towels and wait for you, so that hairspray becomes a tool of self-defense. I do not recommend it. Don’t do this at home, kids; it is absolutely NOT safe. And if the bug’s longer than 12 inches, you need to call Animal Control anyway.

I was driving up Highway 195 back to post from Austin recently and noticed there was a hair salon in one of the small towns along the way that advertised “We do big Texas hair.” I must say, even I was frightened.

Mostly that “big hair” belongs to women of my mother’s generation. The women of my generation and younger don’t really do that kind of thing. I’ve heard it said, “The bigger the hair; the closer to Heaven,” but I think the Almighty loves us all regardless of how “follicley blessed” we are.

One of my favorite examples of “big Texas hair” has to be Bertha Bumiller, a character played by Joe Sears in the Greater Tuna Trilogy (if you haven’t seen these three plays, you must). That wig looks like a big, ol’ brunette polyurethane helmet stuck on his head. And he reminds me a little bit of my Aunt Wynelle. When my Aunt Wynelle died, the congregation at her funeral was a sea of big hair and mink coats. Her sorority from Texas Wesleyan in Fort Worth had showed up. Had anyone thrown a paper airplane during the service, it would have stuck somewhere pretty quick…and stayed upright, nose-down. That, mis amigos, was some big ol’ Texas hair.

I don’t really understand how we came to value “big hair” down here. It’s a real killer to maintain and it’s not practical, two things that don’t fly in Texas. Honestly, I don’t know that many women who have it, now that we’ve entered the 21st Century. In fact, the only example I’ve seen recently has been on Amy Winehouse and she’s from Britain.

I can’t say I have big hair. My hair is long and has a lot of volume. But big? No. Sadly, I don’t even think the Army Corps of Engineers or NASA could get my hair to stand up as high as my Aunt Susan’s 1960s beehive. My hair’s too heavy and about as thick and coarse as a horse’s tail. Back in the 1990s when big hair was about permanents and getting your bangs to stand straight up, I tried to follow the trend only to have my bangs lean 90 degrees forward. My college sweetheart said, “I’ve seen wavy hair, but I’ve never seen hair waving…til now.” Needless to say, I gave up and I’m glad I did. I am delighted that no photos of me exist that show me sporting anything remotely as dreadful as that trend in hairdos, though there is video of me hosting a law enforcement community policing update training show in a Dana Scully/FBI bundt cake paigeboy do.

Talk about you X-Files…

These days, I do my daily do with a straightening iron in hand. It’s practically effortless compared to hot rollers and curling irons. And, thankfully, it requires no hairspray. But not long ago, my twin daughters were brushing my hair (it’s a girl-thing) and one of them said, “Mommy! Your hair is so big!” Guess I’m guilty of having big hair after all.