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Egg Head

My Failed Makeover

By cassie rogersPublished 3 years ago 3 min read

This story takes place at a very confusing point in my life. I was in my awkward teen years when the height of my beauty routine was twisting the front of my hair back and pinning on the top of my head with my favourite turquoise butterfly clip. Despite being fashionably challenged, I desperately wanted to look gorgeous. I wanted to be one of those ‘it’ girls in the magazines that knew how to wear oversized sunglasses in the shape of love hearts, without looking like they were playing dress-ups. More importantly, I wanted to attract a boyfriend. A real boyfriend. One that would be the Romeo to my Juliet.

So I was in need of a makeover.

Since fashion and beauty didn’t come to me easily, I needed to get studying. I read all the magazines, studied all the beauty blogs, and watched countless hours of YouTube tutorials – which all promised they’d have me looking like a total glamour.

Once I consumed all of these beauty tips, it became apparent that there were two hurdles standing between me and the model-like self I wanted to become.

Problem one: all of these beauty products cost a lot of money, and being a student, I didn't have any.

Problem two: I’d only just arrived home from volunteering in a Cambodian orphanage. Our toilet was a hole in the ground. We showered from a nearby well. We slept under mosquito nets. Prior to this trip, I already looked more like a gremlin than a teenage girl. But after 5 weeks of living this rough lifestyle, my boyfriend project looked near impossible.

In fact, when I arrived home after this volunteer trip and stepped in front of the bathroom mirror for the first time, I gasped in fright when I saw my reflection. It was like a horror scene. It would take an army of beauty bloggers to fix me up. Every part of me looked tragic, but the worst of all was my hair. It needed immediate revival, and whatever method I chose, it needed to be completely free.

So I turned to my trusty friend Google for help.

Google led me to an egg hair treatment. According to the reviews, this treatment would have me looking like a goddess. I quite fancied looking like a goddess, so I raced to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs.

After whisking six large eggs into a gooey paste, I spread it through my long black hair and left it a while to soak in and do its thing.

Unfortunately, I’m someone who hates reading instructions. I never read them. I haven’t got time for that. So, like usual, I just skimmed past the instructions. Yep, yep, yep, easy, easy, whatever. After twenty minutes or so, I jumped in the shower to wash it out.

That’s when things went wrong.

Horrendously wrong.

As I stood beneath the hot water, I began to see thick chunks of egg form in my hair. What the fuck? In extreme panic, I grabbed my phone and furiously scrolled through the article again. And that’s when I saw it. The warning: HAIR MUST BE WASHED IN COLD WATER OTHERWISE THE EGG WILL COOK.



I have six motherfucking eggs cooked in my hair!

I tried to remain calm but I couldn’t. No matter how much shampoo I put in my hair, the egg wouldn’t budge. It was stuck. I was an omelette head. The only thing worse than the look was the smell. I was a walking fart.

For the next week, I kept a pretty low profile. I continued to find clumps of rotten egg in my hair and, despite going through half a bottle of perfume, I stunk worse than I could have ever imagined possible.

And when I looked in the mirror, I did not see a goddess. Instead, I saw the image of failure staring back at me.


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