still no 'poo, are you?

It's been a year and a half since I gave up shampoo, so I think it's time to check in.  I'm still at it, if you're wondering.  While my family dabbled in baking soda, the practice didn't stick for them.  They all have their reasons: Gareth refused because he's a teenager.  Olivia gave it almost nine months before she decided her lackadaisical hair-washing skills weren't enough for the combination of long hair and baking soda.  Steve, who probably only tried it because he was afraid of what I'd do if he didn't, lasted almost a year before he confessed that he wanted to switch back because his hair, which looked perfectly clean to me, felt "weird."

Pooh.

I acted like he was crazy, but I had a secret: my head/hair felt a little weird too.  I didn't want to admit it because I was committed to the cause. I'm a martyr! A fighter! A true soldier in the battle to keep sodium laurel, sodium lauryl sulfates and parabens out of our water ways! But I couldn't deny to myself that my hair, which also looked perfectly clean, felt a little...is gunky the word?

Egad.

My hair felt fine when it was dry, but when I'd wring it out after washing it, my hands felt like they had an oily film on them.  Yuck.  Despite that, however, it actually looked better and was easier to style than it was before I gave up shampoo.  For the record, "easier to style" means I didn't need to do anything to it. I could wash it and let it drip dry and it would look exactly the same as it always did, except without the shampoo, conditioner, hair gel, blow drying, and hair spray I'd always felt I needed to make my limp, thin and lifeless hair look like something instead of nothing. 

So, while I didn't know why my hair had that feeling when wet, I didn't want to go back to the old routine. I saw the gunkiness of my hair as a sacrifice I had made for all the little crayfish and minnows that no longer make their homes in our waterways.  And if you must know, I didn't explore ways to eliminate the gunk because I was too busy moralizing about my sacrifice, thinking a little righteously about how I'd stuck with the cause when Steve--that irresponsible shiny-haired-'poo-using-traitor I married--had not. 

I did, however, begin to worry about what would happen when I got my hair cut.  I hadn't gone in about nine months (one of my many beauty and fashion failings), and the last time I'd gone, I'd let them wash my hair--a decision I regretted because the shampoo returned my hair to its old corn silk condition.  I know that sounds nice, but soft isn't always good.  Corn silk for me means straight, flat, lifeless, and too slippery to style.  It took a month to build up the weird residue that felt gross but gave my hair its new body.

If I wanted to avoid another month of shampoo-recovery, I had to refuse the shampoo.  But then how would I hide the secret of my gunk from Carrie, my hair stylist of twenty years? 

Not sure how to face her, I put off my hair cut, letting what had been a short over-the-ears cut grow to my shoulders!  I am such a wimp.  Finally, I could avoid it no longer, so I scrubbed my hair as best I could, and steeled myself for the humiliation.

When I explained my green hair care plan to Carrie, she was cool. I expected that, actually, because Carrie is cool.  Why else would I go to her for 20 years?  If she thought I was a lunatic, she didn't let on, so I relaxed. She cut my hair and we chatted as we always do about books and movies and politics.  Everything was going to be okay!

Then the moment came.

She stood behind me, fiddling with the back of my hair.

"So...I know you haven't been using shampoo..."

I'm telling you.  I could hear the words clacking together in her head like marbles as she sifted through them for the ones that would say, "Your hair feels scuzzy" without actually saying that.

She continued: "Your hair is clean...but it's almost as if, well, it has a...it feels like..."  She scrunched up her nose.  Then her eyes lit up.  "It feels like it has a build up of too much product on it. That's what it is!"

I could see her relief at having stumbled upon such a safe description.  No, my hair wasn't scummy or oily, or fit for critters to nest in.  It was just overstyled.  As in, my hair had too much civilization in it instead of too little.

Ultimately, we laughed at her euphemisms as I assured her they weren't necessary.  If I couldn't hide the gunk, I didn't want to endure the awkwardness of pretending it wasn't there.  If for no other reason, let the same person cut your hair for twenty years so that when the time comes, they will have the guts to say, "Hey, your hair's kind of gnarly.  What's up with that?"

I was really glad we talked about it because she motivated me to get rid of the scum, and she gave me a clue: product. 

Out of habit, I had continued to use hairspray with my baking soda regimen.  Are you shocked and disappointed to hear I ever used hairspray at all? I had to.  No matter what fabulous things Carrie had managed to create on my head while I'd sat in her chair over the years, they were always utterly destroyed by the time I got to my car.  The sight in my rear view mirror never even remotely resembled the masterpiece I'd seen just moments before in her magic mirror.  Why? Because Carrie (rightly) didn't apply hairspray with the same 1980s vigor that my hair has always required. Without it, my hair falls instantly limp into my face where it drives me crazy for the rest of the day.  I hate that!

I had just assumed I still needed the hairspray, regardless of my no 'poo status. 

I was wrong.

My first order of business when I left Carrie's that day: eliminate the hair spray and see what happened.  The second: revisit the use of vinegar.

I used vinegar last year and liked it at first.  After a few times, however, it left my hair greasy - as if I had used too much conditioner, or hadn't rinsed my hair well enough.  That, actually, is exactly what had happened (too much conditioner/vinegar).

This is where I tell you, if you've tried and failed with no 'poo: understand that it is a process.  Perhaps you already knew this? I didn't.  If after using baking soda your hair feels too dry, or too oily, or it accumulates the gunk, don't quit (like some traitorous husbands have done!).  But also, know that you don't have to be heroic and endure embarrassing hair scum. 

Just experiment. 

I had been using this common prescription: 1 Tablespoon of baking soda in 1 cup of water.  My hair is thin and tends toward the oilier side, so this solution proved too weak.  I reduced the water, mixing my 1 Tablespoon of baking soda with just enough water to be thinner than a paste.  Now, I work this into my hair instead of just dumping it over.  Then I really scrub.  It feels gritty, but I like that feeling on my scalp.  I do this every other day, and it works well.   After a week or two, however, it starts to get that dry-but-too-thick feeling:  in other words: it starts to get the gunk (despite the fact that I don't use hair spray anymore).  That's when I hit it with the vinegar.  Instead of the 2 Tablespoons of vinegar in 2 cups of water like I tried last year, I use just 1 tablespoon in 1 cup of water (same proportions, just less of it).  This leaves my hair feeling smooth and shiny, but not greasy.

Nice!

The moral of the story: you don't have to be a weird-haired martyr for the local stream beds!  A little experimentation helped me to make my hair better than it ever was: cleaner, more full of body, not scummy when wet, and easy to style.  I just wash it, comb it, and let it dry.  No shampoo, no conditioner, no hair gel, no hairspray.  That's a lot of money left in my pocket, time left in my day, and a lot of questionable chemicals left in their bottles.

It just took a little perseverance (and a fearless hair stylist).

And since so many people come to my blog under the search terms: "no 'poo pics": here are a few weird faceless pictures for your scrutiny.

unfortunately, the baking soda doesn't help with the way my

natural part extends down the back of my head.  

i'm certain this will be a bald spot in old age. :( 

this is from the side.

you can see the very tip of my nose sticking out on the left.

weird!

   

no poo part two

Who knew.  Who knew we didn’t need shampoo? 

I discovered the “no poo” movement about a month ago, when I posted Olivia’s complaint that our environmentally friendly shampoo wasn’t cool enough for her green-sparkly-coconut-‘poo toting friends at the pool.  Searching the internet for a cooler ‘poo, I stumbled upon “no ‘poo.”

Many years ago, I had a chronic chapped lip problem.  No matter how careful I was to keep my poor dried and cracked lips protected, they didn’t improve.  I blamed the sun, the wind, the cold, my thyroid, my diet, whatever.  Then one day a friend blamed my Chapstick.  “Don’t put that crap on your lips!” she said diplomatically.  Really?  "Use Trader Joe’s or Burt’s Bees," she added.  I obdiently switched, and wouldn't you know, problem solved in a matter of weeks.  How infuriating!

The first rule of marketing is supposed to be:  make people think they need your product.  It’s not supposed to be: sell a product that will make people need your product.  That’s what happened with my lip balm. It provided temporary relief, but the more I used it, the more I needed that relief. Many hand lotions do this too, drying out your skin with alcohol, causing you to need more lotion in the long term.

I already had concerns about the harsh ingredients and plastic containers associated with shampoo, but I considered it a necessary evil.  Now I’m finding out it’s like lip balm with bubbles?  Since shampoo strips your hair of its natural oils, your head responds to shampoo by stepping up the oil production, making your hair greasier, causing you to shampoo more frequently. 

Take it out.  Put it back.  Take it out.  Put it back.  Everyday.   

Meanwhile, your scalp's on overdrive and you're buying shampoo like it's bread or eggs.  What a dirty little game!  Annoyed, I decided to break the cycle and see what happened. 

There’s no sense in the blind leading the blind, so I’ll tell you straight up, if you want some decent directions about how to proceed with no ‘poo, check out  Musings of a Kitchen Witch, or Simple Mom.  If you want still more directions and some interesting history about ‘poo in the Victorian era, check out Great Grandmother’s Kitchen.  If you want to hear some bumbling tales of trial and error, don't go anywhere at all.

To restore balance, and to give my poor confused scalp a rest, I resolved to start by washing with warm water only.  I admit, I didn’t see the point of using the baking soda.  I imagined it to be a sort of token cleaner, like chicken soup for a cold (useful, but no silver bullet). 

The first day was sort of ok.  The second day was sort of not ok.  The third day, my hair felt thick and weird.  By the fourth day…you know that expression “mop of hair?”  Yeah.  Somebody was looking into the crystal ball of my future when they came up with that one.  Only make it a heavy, dirty, straggly mop.  Probably smelly too.  Thank god it was the weekend.  I looked like I’d just walked out of a swamp.

Then I thought sort of moronically, “maybe I should try the baking soda after all…” 

So I mixed a tablespoon of baking soda with a cup of warm water and dumped it hopefully over my head. 

Magic.  I could tell instantly that my hair was clean.  Not token clean, or kinda clean.  Really clean.  In fact, so clean I only used it every other day.  Problem solved!  But then my hair, which is thin and fine, quickly became dry.  Not only that, it filled with static.  Lots of it. Like you'd stuck my head on the end of your pencil and spun it around kind of static.   Seriously.

Enter:  vinegar.  Vinegar smells, but only when your hair's wet.  Also, you can steep herbs in it for a nicer aroma (can you plunge a coconut in there? Olivia would be thrilled!).  I perused my spices with interest: What to smell like today?  Rosemary? Maybe some lemon basil would be nice.  Then I wondered, what did I have for dinner last night? Do I smell like curry?  Can you use lemon basil after eating curry? 

I took a culinary risk and went with the basil.  However, I didn’t have a fine enough strainer, so the pieces slipped right through.  When I held my “strained” vinegar up to the light, bits of green swirled all around.  Hm.

I figured, between the swamp head, the grease, the baking soda, the static, what were a bunch of basil leaves?  So I stood in the shower, feeling a little bit like an Easter egg, and dumped the lot of it over my head.  I guess I'm giving new meaning to the term "flower child."

But it worked! My hair came out smooth and silky—even if I was picking basil out of it all day.

That was several weeks ago, and despite my less than graceful beginning, I’m finally in a routine. My hair feels thicker, needs less styling and less “product” (as the beauty aficionados say).  I wash it every other day (never could get away with that before), and it’s clean. The patches of dry skin I used to have above my ears (sorry, yuck) have cleared up.  It’s been a month and a half and I’d say I’m off shampoo for good. 

But here’s the really exciting thing.  I didn’t even try to persuade Olivia, and the unintended reverse psychology of that worked wonders.  Under no pressure, she got curious, called me “so weird,” then promptly converted herself.  As for her friends at the pool, it turns out no ‘poo is cooler than nerdy ‘poo any day.  Again, who knew?

I’ve yet to convert the men in the house.  They don’t know it yet, but that’ll happen as soon as that obscene bottle of Head and Shoulders they have towering in the shower runs out.  They hardly have any hair so the transition should be uneventful.  I hope so anyway, because “no poo part three” doesn’t have much of a ring to it at all. 

no poo: green tween dreamin'

I don’t know what Olivia enjoys more, synchronized swimming or the post-practice locker room takeover that occurs when she and her friends head off to the showers.  I never knew that hair washing and brushing could be so entertaining!

The drawback to these festivities, however: Olivia has discovered that our shampoo is “not cool.” 

Darn. 

She wants to know why we can’t have something purple or green that is thick, glittery and coconut smelling.  Something magical, that invigorates, lengthens, strengthens and soothes, all while oozing with foamy suds. 

I buy Trader Joe’s Tea Tree Tingle.  Colorless, nearly odorless, moderately sudsy and ridiculously named.   Yet, it’s free of the dreaded sodium laureth and sodium lauryl sulfates (SLES and SLS) that we should all strive to avoid.  These detergents appear in most cleansing products:  from car engine de-greasers to shampoo.  They hurt your skin, eyes and liver.  They kill fish. 

Why let my kids put that stuff on their precious little moppy heads?  Why let it slither down the drains of our small house to infect the big picture beyond? 

When they were younger, I made these decisions with the confidence of a dictator who had absolute authority over his or her subjects.  Sure, I encouraged the kids to exercise their autonomy.  I let them choose their snacks, for example. The dirty little trick, of course, was that I filled the cupboard and refrigerator with the healthy options from which they chose.  They didn't know any different. 

As a parent, you have a lot of control in those early years.

Then your 11 year old comes home one day and says, “Mom, why is all of our stuff so weird?”  You note the hint of despair in her voice.

What to do?  I don’t want to make her stand out.  When I was her age, my classmates bullied me for my failure to wear pantyhose and Levis (not together).  I remember my mother saying, “I’m not letting a group of 11 year old girls tell me how to raise my kids!” 

Well. 

Which side of this impossible coin am I on?

First, I should be clear that nobody is bullying Olivia about her shampoo.  She just wants to show up at the party with a colorful cool smelling bottle of fun to share, just like everybody else.  I think a lot of grownups can relate.  Who wants to bring a thin and light colored PBR to the party when everyone else is drinking pints of thick and foamy Guinness? 

So, I do what I always do.  I talk her to death about it.  You know, the eyes, the liver, the fish.  She gets it—of course, but it doesn’t solve her problem. 

She bends anyway:  “It’s fine, mom,” she says with resignation.  “I’ll just use the ‘Tea Tree TINGLE.’”  We laugh at how completely dorky that sounds. 

She doesn’t know it, but I consider bending too.  She’s so agreeable that I feel bad for her.  Could I find something more fun to buy? 

I go online to check it out. 

Poor child.

About 5 seconds of research shows me that while I’ve spent years tingling it up at shower time in my Trader Joe’s-induced Tea-Tree-oblivion, a “No-Poo” movement has erupted all around me! 

Apparently, to avoid other chemicals such as the parabens (preservatives) that appear in most cosmetics (including my shampoo) lots of folks just rinse with warm water.  Others use baking soda and vinegar a few times a week (are we trying to make a volcano or wash hair? No wonder the movement is "erupting.").     

Can I send Olivia off to the pool with an orange box of Arm and Hammer and a bottle of vinegar in her shower bag?  Maybe a packet of ranch dressing mix to spice things up?

No.   Unequivocally, no.

Or maybe?  Am I really going to let those 11 year old girls tell me how to raise my daughter?  Ahem.

No.  But also No.  Somehow, I have to hold the line.  After learning about No-Poo, my commitment to remain SLES and SLS free feels more like a moderate compromise than an austere mandate.    

So we talk…AGAIN. 

I give a shampoo-version of my “be a leader” speech:  “What if, instead of acting envious of your friends’ shampoo, you nicely explain that you like your own shampoo because it’s good for the environment?”  I caution against shampoo-bashing which would surely incite a locker room brawl. 

“Maybe the other girls will ask you about it.  You could tell them about how some shampoos hurt your eyes.  How some kill the fish.”

“I could say I use it for the beavers!” she exclaims. 

Why didn’t I think of that?  Olivia is obsessed with beavers.  

“Yes! Then maybe, instead of you begging me for beaver-killing shampoo that smells good, they would go home and ask for your kind of shampoo!  Ooh! Not only would you be “normal,” you would have “led” your friends to create a cleaner environment!” 

I’m really excited now, but Olivia has returned to reality.  “OK mom," she says with eyes rolling.  "I guess everybody has a right to be dreaming.” 

If she only knew about the baking soda.