IN MY MIDDLE-SCHOOL years, filled with suburban tween angst, I began spiking my hair. It was my first stab at quasi-rebellion, one inspired by the Sex Pistols bassist Sid Vicious, whom I admired though he had died well before my birth. Each morning, I would squeeze out a dollop of cement-strength gel and mash it into my hair until I looked sufficiently electrocuted. I prided myself on the look (my first instant-messenger alias was Spikekid13), but I’d never style my hair that way today nor squirt that particular product into my hair. Gel is too gloppy, too glossy and too glue-like for my thick, straight strands, which...

Source: Wall Street Journal May 08, 2019 16:04 UTC