Well into my adolescence, I used Joico ICE Spiker gel to sculpt my hair into a set of sharp medieval spires. The gluelike substance petrified every strand. Each school day, though, the fragile structure would totally desiccate by afternoon, and the gel would fall on my shoulders in dandruffy flakes. (Hot.) Eventually, I wised up and stopped using it. For years, I tried all kinds of products — mousses, creams, anything I could find. They were viscous, oily, cakey and opaque, fudge-y and translucent. Some were fine, even good, but none ever quite got the job done. They didn’t have the stamina to avoid deflation, or they were too greasy, or they gave me too much shine. Despite my best efforts, I made peace with the fact that I would always look like an ’80s junk-bond trader.
Then, last year, feeling mangled by a supernova of interlocking personal problems, I bleached my hair, just as my embattled gay ancestors did and as my contemporaries continue to do in response to their own interlocking personal problems (also for self-expression, punk-rock purposes, etc.). My colorist, Marcy, suggested I buy this Enjoy Dry Wax for styling.
That day at the salon, I decided against blond-blond and instead went with a shade of Champagne that turned brassy in the sun. All summer long, I ran the dry wax through my hair and shaped it into a thicker, softer, less violent, more subdued reimagining of my old spiky hair.
Other times, I’d brush it down and fluff it in a pale imitation of that “bussin zoomer” look. Didn’t matter if I was wearing my hair short or longish; once I introduced a little dry wax, it went in almost any direction I wanted — and stayed put. Like Cindy Sherman in character, I was myself but reoriented 30 degrees, off kilter in a placidly estranging way, traipsing through Washington Square Park in streetwear several notches below scumbro, open to whatever. That summer, tie-dye was a neutral …
By October, the blond defected to brunet with autumn-leaf-looking frosted tips. I kept using the wax, though.
A year has passed, and I still swear by it. Apply some to the tips of your fingers (you really don’t need a lot), make your hands into claws, and run them through your hair. Oh, and it’s completely matte. That was the biggest selling point for me. No slimy sheen or otherwise revolting patina. Also lots of volume. And the investment pays off. I’ve required so little wax for each usage that I’m actually still on my first jar. If you’re going for a punk thing, it’s pretty easy to achieve controlled chaos and/or sprezzatura, but the wax is just as good for a tamed, formal look. The ingredients include propylparaben, which may or may not matter to you. Enjoy Enjoy.
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