I remember when 'Grease' came out, I used to force my mum to try and grease my hair back, and it was never long enough, and literally I'd be screaming at her, 'Do it. Just do it!'.
When I get a new script, I write a record of how many costume and make-up changes I have. I cross-check them against the shooting schedule and then consult with the hair and make-up designers.
I have a friend who, if she has a bad hair day, it affects her whole mood because it is part of her sexuality, her confidence. I don't have that problem any more.
I dyed my hair about 42 different colours, and kids can be pretty judgmental about people who are different. But instead of breaking down and conforming, I stood firm. That is also probably why I was unhappy.
I went to a very mean school and was bullied like crazy. I was a bit of a goth with purple hair, and I was also part of the drama group, which was filled with actors and writers and wasn't really accepted by the rest of the school.
Not only did I love her, but I could tell the universe loved her, too. More than others. She was different. After all; I would be a fool not to notice the way the sunshine played with her hair.
When you go to a show, Americans in New York are very proper, much more so than the French. Everything is perfect. Their hair, the nails, everything. The look. Everything is perfection.
I usually go to Lush for hair products. I had no idea that this existed, but they have a shampoo rock, and it looks like a bar of soap, and I was tripping out when they told me it was a shampoo, so that's pretty sweet.
The talk show, as a genre, has been in decline for a while. It started with Jerry Springer, when the talk shows suffered a metamorphosis, going from the real and social issues to the hair-raising.
But there's so much kludge, so much terrible stuff, we are at the 1908 Hurley washing machine stage with the Internet. That's where we are. We don't get our hair caught in it, but that's the level of primitiveness of where we are. We're in 1908.
When I do my concerts, you have got to think about everything else; so you have got to think about your gown, your hair, your body, and how you present yourself on stage.
The problem is that television executives have got it into their heads that if one presenter on a show is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed heterosexual boy, the other must be a black Muslim lesbian.
I question the political judgement of those who would have the nerve to paint Christ white with his obvious African nose, lips and wooly hair.
If I hadn't been a woman, I'd be a drag queen for sure. I like all that flair and I'd be dressing up in them high heels and putting on the big hair. I'd be like Ru Paul.
Awake Shake Dreams from your hair My pretty child, my sweet one. Choose the day and choose the sign of your day The days divinity First thing you see.
Step out from behind the words. When you're a writer you can imagine that the words speak for you and are you, but they're not. You are this living breathing bad hair day kind of person.
For years I had my hair parted down the middle in a ponytail, tucked down around the sides... Well, I went and cut the bangs, and I've been wearing them ever since. They say it's my trademark.
I have very curly hair and I straighten it every day - it takes maybe two minutes. I can't imagine anyone having a bigger challenge than I do in the kinkiness that is my crazy 'fro.'
There's no white comic that sells tickets to black people like me. They're going to get their hair done, get a new outfit, and come out to see a white dude.
Nobody ever said that growing old would be easy. Just having to hold the newspaper out in your forties and then hair growing out of unusual parts of your body in your fifties. It's tough on the ego.
It can be hard for the cute girl. I was blond, cute, broke. I was beat up. I was thrown inside lockers. I was burned with cigarettes. My hair was lit on fire.
