I thought it’d make Patrick Swayze swoon

AS THE curlers were gently removed from my hair, I gazed with rapture at the ringlets surrounding my face and bobbing about my chin. I was almost 18 and my birthday present from my parents was my first-ever perm.

The sight of Kylie Minogue with curly hair in yesterday’s Mail gave me a flashback to November 1990. My reasons for wanting curly hair were threefold.

First, I was spending all my time with my head tipped upside down, hair stiff with volumising mousse and desperately trying to scrunch curls into my bonestraight locks.

Second, I wanted to look like Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing so that when

Patrick Swayze finally made an appearance in Farrer’s Coffee Shop on Kendal High Street and I served him with a shortbread, he would be my boyfriend.

Third, I genuinely believed that having curly hair would improve my quality of life. Girls with curls were pretty and fun.

I went to school the Monday following The Perm and spent the whole day waiting for my life to change for the better. Perhaps it needed more time.

Four weeks later, it was Christmas Eve. I had a new, black puff-sleeved dress and my hair was at peak curl. My friends and I headed off for Malibu and lemonades in Kendal’s bars. Miraculously, a boy I liked finally gave me a kiss.

The word ‘perm’ may not seem romantic, but for me, it’s a word resonant with youth, promise and a world where good hair genuinely can make all the difference.