Like all of my daughters, I had a head full of curls when I was small. Also like them, once past those early years my hair was straight as a pin. From the time I was probably three or four until I was twelve, I never had more than the very ends trimmed off, so when in seventh grade I came home from my first trip to the beauty salon with a shoulder-length mass of frizzy, decidedly un-straight tresses, I was forced to reconsider pretty much everything I thought I knew about my hair.

In the years since that first fateful cut, my hair’s refusal to lie flat has been alternately a source of pride and wonder and the bane of my existence. I think I would have been happy enough with either truly straight or truly curly hair, but what I was left to deal with was stuck in some ill-defined middle ground — less than curly, more than wavy, and anything but tidy. In my adolescence and through most of my adulthood I straightened my hair by various means neither kind nor especially successful, and the vast majority of days I pulled it back in a ponytail or bun, mostly just to avoid dealing with it.

Some years ago I first heard about the “curly girl method”, and though I was intrigued, I couldn’t be bothered to devote so much time and energy to something that I figured probably wouldn’t work anyway. Plus, the idea of tossing out my shampoo and washing my hair with only conditioner just grossed me right out. Even after shampooing, I seldom used conditioner as it left my hair feeling weighed down and just this side of greasy, so I figured exclusively using conditioner would be a recipe for disaster. Also, I was put off by the nickname “no-poo” for shampoo-free cleansing; I hate cutesy shit like that.

But, but. For whatever reason, earlier this summer I was struck again by the idea of trying to make the most of my curls so I started checking out the web for ideas. The before-and-after pictures of women who’d embraced the curly-girl way of life were enough to make me decide to give it a go. And since it was summer and I didn’t have much in the way of social engagements, I reckoned that any disastrous results could be easily enough concealed from the public, so I did my last shampoo wash the last week of July and embarked on what I hoped wasn’t a fool’s errand.

The first order of business was to examine the labels on all my hair-care products and throw out anything that contained sulfates and/or silicones, find an “approved” conditioner, and dig out a micro-fiber towel (terrycloth is the kryptonite of curly hair, apparently). In the past six weeks or so, I’ve progressed to ever more advanced tricks including, but not limited to, slathering my hair in aloe vera “sunburn” gel, sleeping with my hair in a ridiculous topknot-type ponytail, and resting my head on nothing but a pure silk pillowcase. And you know what? It totally works. It works so much that more than one person has wondered recently if I’d got a perm, only to react with near disbelief when assured that all this curl is my very own.

And now I leave it to you, dear readers, to be amazed (because, believe me, my poor husband is plenty tired of marveling at my hair):