There’s something about curls.
When I had hair, I had them, in droves. A big, long Jew-fro of a mane. My mother had them too. But these curls – tight, corkscrew ringlets aren’t what I mean.
What I mean are the usually artificial curls that often grace the lower third of women’s long hair – not so much curls as enhanced waves, twists that indicate not a natural endowment but rather, a little work that has gone into bringing some life into straighter hair.
Why is it that this bit of artifice can do so much to attract my attention? Particularly when artifice, generally – in the form of make-up, dye, coloring, even sexy clothing – is generally so irrelevant, or worse, to me?
A woman who has put effort into inserting some excitement in her hair communicates a certain combination of enthusiasm, playfulness, and yes, sexuality, to me. I can’t say why this is, only that it is.