Everyone knows you can’t be Barbie without the hair. And the shoes.
I made plans with my sister to enter a hitherto unknown territory for me – hair extensions. We arranged to meet at her regular stylist, who works from her home and is coincidentally, my age. She could pass for 20 years younger than that and only her reading glasses give her away as having entered the age of trying to find the focus button for the small print. Given the hair disaster we faced, it was a lengthy process, involving highlights, attaching many extensions using a dangerous-looking hot tool, shaping the final product by trimming the real and newly-real hair, and curling the final product.