The Copper Airwrap: A Symphony of Second Chances

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The Audition

I bought the Airwrap the day I quit my symphony job.

The violin case gathered dust under my bed, its strings slack from neglect. My hands, once precise enough to navigate Bach partitas, now fumbled with ponytail elastics. The Airwrap arrived in a box that glowed like a stage light. Copper, the color of old pennies and older regrets.

“Styles without extreme heat,” the brochure promised. I needed extreme. I needed reinvention.

First Movement: Allegro (With Trembling Hands)

I watched the tutorials. Twirl, hover, release. My first attempt looked like a toddler attacked my hair with a sparkler.

But the Airwrap hummed—a gentle vibrato, not the screech of my old flat iron. It didn’t burn when I lingered too long. It pulsed, patient, like a metronome set to adagio.

I wore the botched curls to the grocery store. A cashier said, “Rockstar vibes.” I tipped her in quarters from my busking days.

Interlude: The Ex’s Wedding

He married a cellist. Of course.

I used the smoothing brush, taming my frizz into something resembling composure. The Copper Airwrap caught the church light, gleaming like the mouth of a trumpet.

During the vows, a tendril escaped. I let it.

Second Movement: Crescendo (In Which I Become a YouTube Cliché)

I filmed a tutorial. “From Maestro to Mom Bun: Airwrap Hacks for the Rhythmless.”

The comments rolled in:

- “Your hair looks like a Renaissance painting.”

- “What’s the BPM of that brush?”

- “Sellout.”

I monetized it. Bought a plant. Named it Forte.

Cadenza: The Snag

A strand caught in the barrel. I yanked. The Airwrap stuttered, spitting hair like a dissonant chord.

I cried, then laughed. Perfection was overrated.

Third Movement: Fermata (Hold Until Fade)

It became my baton:

- Job Interviews: Sleek waves. “Classical training teaches discipline,” I lied.

- First Dates: Loose curls. “You look… approachable,” he said. I left before dessert.

- The Comeback Gig: Wild, unscripted volume. Played the Mendelssohn concerto with a hairpin stuck in my E string.

The Airwrap’s copper dulled, tarnished by tap water and my shaky hands.

Coda: The Truth in the Tension

The Dyson didn’t give me confidence. It gave me curiosity.

What if frizz was just freedom? What if a bad hair day was a bridge to a better self?

I sold the violin. Kept the Airwrap.

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