Linda Morrison Facebook ad: “Read this if your part keeps getting wider”

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Hair Care

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I kept my granddaughter’s birthday cake in the fridge for 3 days after the party. Not because anyone was going to eat it. I just wasn’t ready to stop thinking about the picture that made me realize how much hair I’d lost. The picture was taken right before we cut the cake. My granddaughter had already dragged one finger through the frosting even though my daughter told her twice to wait until we sang. Everybody was laughing. I was standing behind her with my husband, and my daughter had held her phone a little higher than normal so she could fit everyone in. That angle was all it took. When she sent the pictures to our family group chat later that night, I opened one and immediately saw the top of my head. I zoomed in. Then I zoomed in again. My part looked twice as wide as I thought it did. There was this pale strip of scalp running down the middle that I swear I had never seen that clearly in my own mirror. I barely noticed the cake. Barely noticed my granddaughter licking frosting off her finger. All I could think was, when did my hair start looking like that? The next morning, what was left of the cake was sitting in my refrigerator. Every time I opened the door, I thought about that picture. Orange juice. Milk. Birthday cake. That stupid picture. By the third day nobody was eating the cake anymore, but I still had not thrown it away. I think some part of me had attached the whole thing to that night. That was the night I stopped telling myself I was imagining it. I had known my hair was changing. Of course I had. I was 62. It had been getting finer for a couple of years. There was more in the shower than there used to be. My ponytail felt smaller. My crown went flat faster. I had started moving my part around depending on which side looked better that morning. But there is a difference between knowing something and seeing it in a photograph you did not take yourself. Mirrors are forgiving. You know your angles. You move your head. You fluff the top. You step away from the light. A photograph does not cooperate with you. That one didn't. After that, I became almost ridiculous about my hair. I carried root powder in my purse. I kept another one in the bathroom. I had dry shampoo in the linen closet because I kept forgetting whether I had already bought another can. I tried biotin. Collagen powder. Rosemary oil. A scalp serum with a tiny glass dropper. A thickening spray that made my hair feel like I had sprayed sugar water into it. I even bought one of those silicone scalp massagers and stood in the shower scrubbing my head like harder somehow meant better. The strange part is that none of this felt excessive while I was doing it. Each thing solved one little problem. The oil was for the scalp. The clarifying shampoo was to get the oil out. The mask was because the clarifying shampoo dried out the ends. The mousse was because the mask flattened the top. The dry shampoo was because the mousse and everything else made my roots look dirty the next morning. Then the root powder covered whatever still showed. I had somehow created a routine where half the products existed to fix what the other half had done. And I still dreaded photographs. That was the part that bothered me most. Not washing my hair. Not even seeing strands in the brush. Pictures. I started noticing where the lights were before I sat down in restaurants. I hated when somebody stood behind me with a phone. Wind made me uncomfortable because I could feel my part moving. At family gatherings I would fix my hair before going inside, then check it again in the car mirror before I got out. Nobody said anything. That almost made it worse. Because I knew this was mostly happening inside my own head. Everybody else was living their lives. I was checking my crown. A few weeks after the birthday, I was cleaning out the bathroom cabinet. I pulled everything out and lined it on the counter. There were so many bottles that I actually laughed. Not because it was funny. It was just one of those moments where you suddenly see what you have been doing from the outside. And almost every bottle was some extra treatment. Oil. Serum. Powder. Mask. Spray. I had spent so much time thinking about what I could add to my hair that I had barely thought about the thing I used on it every few days no matter what. My shampoo. The one I had been buying for years. It cleaned my hair, technically. But my roots never felt fresh for very long. If I washed once, they still felt coated. If I washed twice, my ends felt rough. Then the whole correction routine started again. That was when I started looking for something simpler. I came across Lunavo while reading about shampoos for thinning, finer hair. I recognized rosemary immediately because I already had the oil. What interested me more was that it was not just another rosemary treatment I had to add on top of everything else. It was the actual shampoo. It also had amino acids and ingredients meant to help keep the scalp feeling clean and balanced while helping the strands feel smoother and stronger. That made more sense to me than adding bottle number 11 to my bathroom. So I ordered it. When it came, I decided to do something different. I stopped trying to use everything at once. The rosemary oil went under the sink. So did the harsh clarifying shampoo. I stopped piling serums onto my scalp every night. I kept the root powder. I wasn't that brave yet. The first time I used Lunavo, nothing dramatic happened. My hair just felt good after I rinsed it. Clean, but not that squeaky stripped feeling. When I dried it, the roots felt lighter. The lengths did not feel as rough. The next morning I noticed the hair around my part had not separated into those little oily sections as quickly. That sounds incredibly boring. At the time it felt huge. Because when those fine strands stayed loose instead of sticking together, there was simply less contrast between my hair and my scalp. My part looked softer. So I kept using it. A couple of weeks later, I realized I had not used the clarifying shampoo at all. Then I noticed I was going longer before reaching for dry shampoo. My brush seemed to move through the ends more easily. I was seeing fewer short broken pieces around the sink. My crown became easier to style without covering it in mousse first. Nothing happened overnight. It was more like one morning I would notice one small thing, then forget about it. A few days later I would notice something else. Eventually I realized my hair was starting to look like hair again instead of a problem I had to manage from the moment I woke up. The part was still there. I was still 62. But the top looked fuller. My hair looked healthier. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was moving in the right direction instead of quietly watching it get worse. A few months later, we had another family dinner. My granddaughter was there. Same little girl who had stolen frosting off that cake. At some point my daughter took another picture. She held the phone a little above us again. I saw it later that night. And my stomach did that same little drop when I opened it. I knew exactly where my eyes were going. Straight to the top of my head. Except this time I looked at the picture and just sat there. My hair looked good. Not 25-year-old hair. Not some impossible before and after. It simply looked fuller around the top. Softer. Healthier. My part was still visible, but it was not screaming at me. Then I noticed my granddaughter. She was making some ridiculous face at the camera. My husband was laughing at her. My daughter had her eyes half closed. And I realized I had been looking at the picture for almost a minute without zooming in once. That was probably the moment it really hit me. After all the bottles, oils, powders, vitamins, and mornings spent arranging my hair under different lights, I had finally found a routine that made me feel like myself again. I barely use dry shampoo now. The root powder that lived in my purse has been sitting in the bathroom drawer. My hair feels stronger when I brush it. My roots stay fresher. The top is easier to make look full without spending 20 minutes trying to disguise it. But the biggest change is that I stopped thinking about my hair every hour of the day. I stopped checking my crown every time I passed a mirror. I stopped worrying about where somebody was standing with a camera. And that first birthday picture? I still have it. My daughter had already saved it in our family album before I deleted it from my phone. I used to hate looking at it. Now the first thing I notice is my granddaughter's little finger covered in frosting. Which is probably what I should have noticed in the first place. **P.S.** Last Sunday I found the root powder that used to live in my purse while looking for a receipt. I had completely forgotten it was in there. A few months ago I checked for that little compact before leaving the house the same way I checked for my keys. I know that sounds tiny. It did not feel tiny to me. **P.P.S.** My granddaughter had another birthday recently. She stole frosting again. Apparently some things do not change. This time when my daughter sent the pictures, I actually looked at the birthday girl first.

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