Sal Story #7: The Ninja Headband

In a fashion company, some days you’re in, some days you’re out.

And seeing as my job was to always be one step ahead, it comes as no surprise that what I displayed as ‘fashion’ may very well have looked ridiculous to others at the time. I would assure myself that within months or even weeks, they would bend to the trend themselves and feel foolish for having chastised me about my taste. Bottom line: What.ev.er.

It was the day of a fairly monumental and special ‘Sal Personal Appearance’ at the flagship Bloomingdales. We all dressed a bit nicer than usual that day, and I remember wearing a simple black frock with heels. I added a dyed pink and purple headband that was worn horizontally (aka ninja-style, Indian-style, hippie-style). I let my hair run a-poof and created just the air of edginess I needed to make the outfit pop. New-age hippie? Absolutely.

I worked all morning at my desk frantically typing up notes for Sal’s speech that evening and organizing things for the show. I heard my name in a hushed voice from behind me and swiveled my arm chair around to face Bev, the culprit. “Lose the headband,” she stated in an emotionless voice. I was a little taken aback by her bold demand, but managed to temper myself (when I really wanted to scream “why?”) and asked the question, “Before Bloomingdales?” She answered, “yes.” Though I hadn’t had time to figure out what she meant, I assume either herself (likely) or Sal had decided that I was in bad taste and didn’t want me out in the world associating myself with the pack. {In retrospect I probably should have performed more stunts of this nature}. I tried to let the blushed color in my cheeks drain as I played it cool and continued working.

About an hour later- and still T minus four hours to the appearance, I went to use the restroom. The restroom was an obstacle in itself; anyone wishing to visit Sal’s assistants hair salon/restroom had to pass by his office, through the kitchen, the printing station, and storage to reach it. I was about halfway to my destination (in the kitchen) when Bev was turning to leave the printing station. In a decently loud voice, she stated, ” I TOLD you to lose the headband.” I sensed some anger. I shook my head yes and literally lost the headband. Mercy. Was I to argue in the kitchenette about my fashion selections? Did she really want to see what an now-halo-crimped afro looked like? It wasn’t even show time…

I looked like a doofus that evening at the Bloomingdales appearance. Sans headband and added patches of flat hair amidst frizzy hair, I wasn’t in the best of moods. And I never got the wherewithal to ask Bev what was up her butt. All I know is that it was rumored she was wearing a similar thing in the years after I left that crazy house. Of course she was. The ninja headband rocked.

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