A Trip to Big Hair
It all begins with an idea.
Every once in a while, I make a trip to Big Hair. You’ll find it on Ventura Boulevard, tucked between a quirky sock shop and an ancient bookstore. Out front, there’s a neon-pink sign that blinks Big Hair and a window display that looks like Molly Ringwald exploded— pink tulle and pure attitude.
Inside, it smells like strawberry Lip Smackers and Aqua Net. Roxy Carlisle — owner and ringmaster— is behind the counter, hair perfectly permed, shoulder pads at attention, and neon nails flashing. Gold hoops catch the light. Blue eyeliner? Rivals Cyndi Lauper’s. She’s sipping cappuccino from a mug that says I ♥ ’80s and gives me a grin that says, “Welcome back, kid.”
Every inch of Big Hair is a love letter to the ’80s. Vinyl records lean against Care Bears, racks of vintage clothes sparkle like a John Hughes prom, and a TV in the corner loops Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. A U2 poster catches my eye, and suddenly I’m fifteen again, lying on my bed, staring at Bono, convinced he and I will change the world together—one anthem at a time.
But here’s the thing: Big Hair isn’t just a store I dreamed up for my book. It’s a feeling. It’s that phosphorescent rush you get when something reminds you who you used to be — or who you secretly still are. When I created Roxy Carlisle, I wanted her world to feel alive, like you could walk right in, grab a coffee, and lose an afternoon flipping through vintage magazines.
Places like Big Hair matter now more than ever. We live in a world that’s fast, digital, and filtered. We scroll, click, refresh — and yet still feel disconnected. But Big Hair slows you down. Yeah, it’s a little dusty, but completely alive. You can hold a record, smell a candle called Julius’s Dreamsicle, and talk to a stranger who remembers the same commercial jingle you do. “Give me a break, give me a break…”— and suddenly you’re both twelve again, sitting cross-legged on shag carpet.
It’s not about going back in time; it’s about remembering how to feel time again.
When I finally leave (carrying a Rubik’s Cube I’ll never solve and a Scratch and Sniff sticker I’ll never actually stick), I realize that Big Hair isn’t just Roxy’s store. It’s my creative home— where stories start, characters live, and nostalgia becomes something brand new.
And yeah, I still smell like strawberry Lip Smackers for the rest of the day. Totally worth it.