WOULD YOU DARE SHARE YOUR MORNING HAIR?
Amanda Holden did — and she’s not the only brave soul whose locks look oh-so-different
WOULD you be brave enough to reveal your ‘morning hair’ to the world? amanda holden did last week — posting a picture of a very curly, unruly mop, which she says is how she always starts the day, before the work begins to turn her into the chic, glossy blonde we know.
So does everyone else wake up with a stranger on their head? Seven writers took some early morning snaps and here they reveal what they must do to tame their hair . . .
HOW COULD MOTHER NATURE DO THIS TO ME?
BEVERLEY TURNER, 45, is a TV and radio presenter MORNING hair is like ordering an online veggie box: you’re never quite sure what you’re going to get. glossy, smooth locks, the equivalent of a ripe avocado — or, more likely, an oddly-shaped bonce with spiky dry bits, like the turnip that nobody eats.
Both inspire a befuddled gaze as you stare in wonder at how Mother nature could allow such a monstrosity. If you have any semblance of a fringe (which I do), morning hair defies all the rules of gravity. how is it possible that four inches of hair can shoot upwards in a manner that you couldn’t possibly achieve with a tub of gel and a hair dryer?
With age, though, women realise that there are ways to predict whether you’ll wake up looking like Julia roberts or alan Davies.
If my hair hasn’t been washed for a couple of days, that stunning combination of greasy, flat roots and twisted, brittle ends is a given.
If I’ve gone straight to bed from the shower, then I can expect to arise like Suzi Quatro and terrify the kids as I stumble into the kitchen.
One of my favourite personal challenges is going to bed after an expensive blow-dry and seeing how intact it is in the morning. This involves twisting my hair into a large soft scrunchie and trying not to move all night.
I may wake up with a stiff neck, but boy is it satisfying to shake it down in front of the mirror and marvel at keeping large curls in place.
Some days, though, no amount of brushing and pulling into a ponytail can achieve a standard suitable for even the school run. So I wash, cover in heat protector spray and dry in sections with a huge round brush and a hot hair- dryer. Plenty of serum on the ends and a cloud of Elnett sets me up for the day — until tomorrow at least.
SORRY TO BOAST, BUT I LOVE MY HAIR
JANET STREET-PORTER, 72, is a broadcaster and writer IT’S taken half a century, but I’ve finally arrived at the perfect haircut.
It’s layered and permanently messy — cleverly contrived so I always look the same; as if I’ve just had a frisky encounter.
Thanks to a weekly blow- dry (taking all of 20 minutes) by my hairdressers, Lee and Madeleine, my hair just doesn’t change. They say I’m blessed with thick, really healthy hair.
It’s extremely low maintenance. It’s washed every seven days, no conditioner, and the roots are coloured every three weeks. In emergencies I can do the worst bits myself using a toothbrush, rinsing it off under the sink tap.
The dye is a combination of three non-chemical products, designed to be as lurid as possible, and since I’ve gone grey it looks multitoned and very glossy. The fringe is trimmed every fortnight to look a complete mess and hide all the wrinkles on my forehead.
Every morning I get out of bed, get dressed, then put my head upside down and screw my fingers around in the roots, to get my hair looking as messy as possible. Five seconds and the job is done.
The dirtier it gets, the better, as it has more body. Sometimes I only have to wash the fringe (top tip). Sorry to boast, but I’ve got great hair!
MY DOUBLE CROWN IS A DISASTER
Rebecca Wilcox, 39, is a TV presenter Oh Hey, well I just woke up like this. With stunning silky curls that caress my shoulders and saunter down my back in a frankly insouciant fashion.
yeah, that’s never going to be me! My hair is a disaster.
My ponytail became more of a rat’s tail. There was no option left but to chop it all off — and you’ve never really had a bad hair day until you’ve tried short hair. It’s a law unto itself.
I go to bed looking all right — but by the time I wake up, some dark magic has occurred, causing sections to flick out and others to swell, while yet more bits mash themselves flat across my skull.
It refuses to submit to a hairbrush or straighteners, and often I am left scrabbling for a hat before I can leave the house.
Things are not improved by my genetic inheritance from my father, which means I have a double crown and was thinning on top from birth.
My hair wants to part forwards and backwards, but never in a single neat side sweep. To do that takes strength, skill and sweat.
Even when it has been tamed by wax and spray, it can suddenly metamorphose and I’ve found myself on a red carpet with strange spikes and crinkles that weren’t there moments before.
This morning’s look is pretty standard.
Clearly, it’s another hat day.
I LOOK LIKE A DOCTOR WHO ALIEN
Annabel Croft, 52, is a TV presenter and former british no 1 tennis player Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the bathroom mirror first thing, hair pointing in all directions as if I’ve stuck my fingers in a plug socket, I look like one of Doctor Who’s aliens.
Once I’ve been up and about a little while, gravity gets to work and pulls it back down into its rightful place on my head.
I have fine hair, but there’s a lot of it, and the dirtier it gets, the thicker — and better — it looks.
Unless I’ve been doing vigorous exercise, I only wash and blow-dry my hair once every three or four days. On other days I just run my fingers through it, tipping my head upside down to get to the roots.
For years I’ve used Intelligent Nutrients Harmonic Invigorating Shampoo, Conditioner and Balm, which is organic and contains no sulphates, parabens or silicone.
It works miracles on my coarse, dry hair — but at £25 a bottle it’s not cheap. While I hate frizz, I have embraced my natural curls and steer clear of straightening irons because they damage the hair.
Between washes, I sometimes use a volumising spray to give it a boost. But I never use hairspray, as it leaves me looking like I’ve got a Brillo pad on my head.
I’ve always worn my hair long, partly because I haven’t felt brave enough to cut it — and I’ll continue to do so until my kids, who are 24, 23 and 19 (and very honest with me), tell me I’m too old for it. I think many women feel pressured to have their hair chopped off too early in life. We have our 70s and 80s to enjoy short styles, for heaven’s sake.
However, under the tutelage of my youngest daughter, Lily — who created the ‘look’ for me while we were on holiday last summer — I now wear my hair pulled up at the sides into a top knot and then clipped at the back.
I’M HIDING MY WILD BLONDE FLICKS
Rachel Johnson, 53, is a journalist and author IF I Have a regular blowdry, my hair is pretty well behaved on the whole, even in the morning. But ‘if’ does a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.
I have more than enough hair for two people (hairdressers complain that I should pay them double) and when I’m on holiday I go feral and my mane goes mad, especially in very humid climates.
When I was in Sri Lanka in January, I had matted fleece rather than the straight locks that I present to the world and I had to explain to puzzled punters why my author photograph looked nothing like me at all.
The secret I like to keep hidden is that I have — like amanda Holden — naturally very wavy hair. If left to dry naturally, it’s very Farrah Fawcett, which was fine in the Seventies but wild blonde flicks are not so much for now or even my age when I should probably have a sensible wash-and-go crop.
So that’s why I choose to place my hair in the hands of the professionals. a nice smooth weekly blow-dry and all it takes is a quick brush and I’m good to go. No one needs to know about the wild woman within.
CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS WIZARDRY?
Sarah Vine, 51, is a Daily Mail columnist However much hard work amanda Holden’s hair is, it’s not a patch on the effort that goes into mine. amanda is lucky: at least she has hair, lots of it. I, on the other hand, have very little since I suffer — and have done since I was a teenager — from alopecia areata, or, less glamorously, pattern baldness. Most people think baldness is a problem that mostly affects men, but 30 per cent of women experience some form of hair loss, although in women it tends not to be quite so severe. Still, it can be enough to be clearly noticeable — and it’s very demoralising.
as the hoo-ha over amanda’s own hair demonstrates, women are defined by their hair. a woman’s hair is integral to her self-image.
So what you see in this snap, taken first thing, on my way to the shower, is the result of an astounding feat of technical wizardry so skilfully executed that most people would never guess I had anything other than normal hair.
It’s the creation of a woman called Lucinda ellery, who herself suffered the distress of losing her own hair — and has dedicated her life to finding practical solutions for women with hair loss.
It’s a sort of hybrid between a wig and a weave, although unlike a wig I don’t have to take it off at night. Thus I can sleep in my hair, swim in it, dance in it, go walking in high winds, wash it, dry it. anything, basically.
Which is why I’ve got such a big stupid grin on my face. However much it may look like a haystack first thing, the fact remains that I’m not staring at a shiny bald patch. What joy.
HELP! MY HAIR HAS A MIND OF ITS OWN
Jenni MURRAY, 68, presents Radio 4’s Woman’s hour at 5.30 am, the alarm shrills and it’s up without delay. a glance in the mirror is not a pretty sight. Tired eyes, slack skin and, oh, the hair! It’s always had a mind of its own, and, after a night on the pillow, it shoots off into whatever direction it chooses.
a strictly timed, regulated regime follows as I have to leave the house at 6.45am, showered, made up and immaculately coiffed.
No doubt listeners like to picture us discussing the important issues of the day while dressed in a pair of trackies, hair a mess — but I face a whole range of people every morning and all of them deserve to be confronted by a person who’s done her best to look her best!
The secret of a perfect hairdo, never a bad hair day, was taught to me years and years ago by Olivier, the best hairdresser I’ve ever had.
First the cut. It must be done by someone who instinctively understands the shape of your face and the way in which your hair grows.
Keep it simple. Only wash it once a week. Never use conditioner. In the shower, simply dampen it down, brush it into shape and dry. a light hairspray. Done.
It is, frankly, a bit of a bore — but as my mother always insisted: ‘Clean shoes, clean knickers and good hair. The marks of a woman who respects herself!’