Monday Hair

Lina Cavalieri's Strategy, circa 1914....

IT is Monday, and I note that my hair does not respond readily to the brush; that it lies lifeless under my fingers; that instead of being a live, bushy, glowing mass, it has diminished to a wisp scarcely larger than my two fingers. It is as though some witch in a rage had plucked it, hair by hair, from my head as I slept. But that has happened too often to give me alarm. Once I wept over it. I thought that I was to become as the shiny-headed men that sit in the first rows of the opera and stare and stare. But that was long ago. Now I know when my hair shows these symptoms that it is dead, but only temporarily, and that with care I can resurrect it, make it live again. With this lifeless condition of the hair I have always found two corresponding conditions of the scalp. The scalp is hot and dry. Also, the brushing reveals dandruff — light, fine and profuse. It is a condition that must be corrected. First remove the dandruff. Hair cannot thrive when that fine, light powder lies upon the scalp, obstructing its pores. To rid one's self of it the hair must be washed, not once but often. I resolve upon washing it every day for a week. I choose the time when I have had my bath. In the water I have dissolved half a cake of the best soap I can get. If upon analysis it is proven to be made of spermaceti all the better. I always have a new soap analyzed, as I do a new cold cream.

I part my hair, and, dipping a small brush the size of an ordinary toothbrush into the water, rub the parting vigorously. I part it again, and rub that parting, and the next, and the next, scrubbing it, as you say in this country, strenuously with the brush dipped in soapy water.

When this has been done I empty the bowl, and in a second water, in which the other half of the cake of soap is dissolved, I wash the hair again, but this time rub the scalp, not with the brush, but with my fingers. Then again and again and again, until the water is as clean as when it runs from the faucet, I rinse the hair.

Now comes the problem of drying it. The hair that is dried in the hot funnel becomes brittle and cracks. If it is dried by draughts of cold air its owner contracts neuralgia. It should be dried first by a brisk toweling. The towel should be rubbed quickly through the hair and upon the scalp, taking the first dripping stage of moisture from each of them. The rest of the drying should be done by the heat of the hands. With the tips of the fingers every bit of space on the scalp should be rubbed until dry.

As the scalp dries the hair dries, too. Last, that the hair may not hang together in matted strands, but stand fluffily, each hair for itself, there should be the last stage of the drying. This is the rubbing of the hair, strand by strand, between the hands. Even this one shampoo will prove that the hair that seemed to be dead is, after all, very much alive.

After the drying the hair should, of course, be brushed — adequately brushed. But there are curious ideas among women in this country as to what is adequate brushing. American friends of mine give the hair one hundred, even two hundred, strokes. I think this is too many. Excessive brushing drags upon the hair and loosens its roots. Forty strokes of the brush I believe to be quite enough. Less brushing, more massaging, is what is needed by all heads, especially the heads on which the hair is thinning.

After the forty strokes of the brush there should be massage. Dry massage always. If you begin with dry fingers you will find that your fingers soon become oily. The sebaceous glands yield their contents quickly to the pressure of fingers, and the released oil softens the hair and sets the tide of growth pouring into it.

It is well at this time to give the hair a sun and air bath. The hair is precious, a splendid frame for the face, and you can afford to give much time to saving it. Sit or stand near an open window. Let the sunshine pour its tonic into your hair. Let the air sweep through and about it. It will respond to the treatment as an invalid to his first drive after a long illness.

Let the hair rest as much as possible. Decline invitations, or, if you have accepted them, cancel the engagements. You can dispense with a few perfunctory meetings and greetings, a cup or two of tea, rather than with so important a part of your beauty as shining, healthful hair. Remain in your boudoir, with your hair loosei.cd and hanging. When it is necessary to be visible to the world wear it in a somewhat different way, and use fewer hairpins.