Going to the hair salon weekly was a life and death event for my mother, grandmother and me. It was as important as penguins crossing the Antarctic. This vexing journey every Saturday morning was the foundation for us to re-enter the world in an enchanting beautiful way.

Grandmother’s x-rated lingerie shop was closed for a few hours each Saturday and a stone’s throw from the Roosevelt Hotel House of Beauty. At 8 a.m. we huddled together walking down University Place, clutching flower-patterned wig boxes. We were on our way to see Mr. Steve.

It was a cyclical event, almost a spiritual pilgrimage that I was involved with since I was old enough to feed myself. My mother always said that you need three things in life: a good hair stylist, a good mechanic, and a good accountant, all in that order.

Like walking on pillows, the carpet embraced our feet entering The House of Beauty. A hedonistic space filled with beehives and Dusty Springfield look-a-likes. Silhouettes of hairdressers were racing everywhere. Red vintage plastic beauty salon chairs clash with the blue painted ceiling clouds. Franki Valli wailed “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.”

My mother and grandmother covered their unmentionables (long line girdles) with a black smock as Mr. Steve morphed them into continental chic. We would line up in chairs, wiglets on our laps, military style. My grandmother had the platinum bouffant wiglet, my mother, the fire engine red wiglet and I had mounds of brown rolling wiglets.

This scene alone sent shivers up the spine of Mr. Steve. Very unpredictable, depending on the night he had before; he was a sexually repressed, mentally unbalanced salon worker who had an abnormal fear of women. But he was an institution. His clients were the old guard New Orleans debutantes, the nouveau riche and those loyal to him despite his “slap bitch” attitude.

Mr. Steve was very popular as he created perfectly formed hair helmets. Wiglets meant bigger, better and more. He called wiglets “transformations” and treated them as a saintly experience as he shoved pins into our scalp. Hurricane force winds would not move our wiglets. This creator of beauty himself had a Betty Davis wig, a huge belly hanging over velvet pants, a very tight madras polyester shirt and Twinkie cream hanging from his lip corner.

The beauty salon machinery was akin to a torture chamber. Cone head hairdryers were large, metal and oh so hot. Always overheating, my ears would turn blood red. At times, I thought my face had sizzled like bacon and fell to the ground. As the dryer tried to suck my brains out of my head, this behemoth machine belched fumes. A little carbon monoxide, anyone?

The permanent wave machine is a fond memory. It was a huge hose that hung down from the ceiling and attached to the customer’s head. Electrocuted yet? No, just making pretty. Vile odors of nail lacquer and hair spray were also infused into the air. Chronic lung disease? Beauty first.

This day of beauty reminds us that nothing brings us closer to God than Aqua Net. Without super hold Aqua Net, there is no day of beauty. Any style, any height can be perfected into a sculpture. Of course, 3 shampoos are required each week to remove the glue-like substance. But what is more important than a skyscraper on your head? It takes time to spray and time equals’ bigger hair. If your hair moves, that’s a titanic problem. Coating the hair with Aqua Net takes an extraordinary delicate series of maneuvers. Close your eyes hold your breath and spray. Repeat 7 times until the air is toxic enough to choke a large city. Your hair should now feel like a tin roof. That’s a sign of achievement.

The gold square wall clock hits noon. We have been scalded, pulled, overheated, colored, burned and molded into place. It’s been a Beauty and the Beast morning. The women in my family always have to bear the heavy burden of glamour. Reality is thrown to the wind. We leave the salon expecting to walk out looking gorgeous, irrespective and unacknowledging of any drawbacks.

Big hair makes us ready to face the world. We are confident, happy and ready to take on anyone who dares cross our paths. Like a penguin protects its egg long enough before it hatches, our wiglets receive the same attention and love. We can now overcome any daunting obstacles due to our day of beauty.