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How do you adapt to working from home, keep fit, maintain a social life – and maybe even cut your hair?

How to keep your hair in check Sali Hughes

Social media is awash with professional colourists pleading with absent clients not to reach for the box dye while theyre closed for business. This is partly because, like every service profession, hairdressing will take a financial beating during this crisis.

But professionals are also genuinely worried about their clients hair, and tell me theyre bracing themselves for a plethora of complex colour correction appointments when they finally reopen. Colour correction can be a long, drawn-out and expensive process, warns Luke Hersheson, my own stylist and creative director of Hershesons in London. Until we know when salons might reopen, its much safer to use a temporary fix, like a root touch-up spray or powder that shampoos out, he says.

He believes many women can buy a few more weeks by just changing where they part their hair. Theres usually more grey at the temples, so a centre parting is a good stopgap.

Top salon colourist Josh Wood isnt against box dyes he even sells them under the Josh Wood Colour brand in Boots. However, the secret to a successful home dye job, he says, is in knowing your limitations. Now is not the time to transform the colour of your hair, or for tricky techniques like balayage, ombre or bleaching, he says.

Try
Try a root disguiser to touch up your hair colour, Sali Hughes suggests. Photograph: Rui Faria/The Guardian

Retouching roots or toning existing colour should be the extent of your ambition as an amateur. Wood suggests applying a moisturising hair mask a couple of days before colouring, and always choosing dye in one shade lighter than you think you need from the picture, as too dark is impossible to correct. Follow the box instructions to the letter, Wood says, starting at the greyest point usually the front and cover roots for twice the length of time as the lengths. He suggests enlisting your spouse or teen to do the back.

In any case, you must always, always do a skin test in advance, according to instructions, to minimise the risk of potentially serious allergic reaction. It can be a lifesaver.

Hersheson (whose team, like Woods, is offering video consultations during the crisis) points out that its worth considering whether social isolation might be a good opportunity to push through the pain barrier of transitioning to grey. Its also a good time to grow out an unwanted fringe you can clip it back and not worry about how that looks, and not have the stress of trimming it yourself, he says.

Hersheson counsels against trimming your fringe, unless youre very adept. But I have trimmed dozens of fringes in extremis, and if you think youre up to the job, heres my own technique:

  • Always start with clean, but dry hair never, ever cut when wet or even damp. Clip back the rest of your hair, leaving the dry fringe isolated and loose.

  • Comb through, and with the comb, gather the entire fringe into a single, flat, one-inch section at the very centre of your forehead.

  • Clamp it between two flat fingers at the bottom of the section, approximately 1cm from the hair tips (use a plastic freezer bag clip instead, if you prefer).

  • Take the sharpest scissors you own and cut up into the one-inch section of tips, naturally stopping at the fingers. Do not cut across, only upwards. When youve snipped the entire inch-wide section, release your fingers and comb through to assess the length, snipping away any single hairs you may have missed.

  • If its still too long (always preferable to too short), repeat the process, nudging fingers up only half a centimetre at a time, before combing through and checking.

How to socialise online Elle Hunt

Not only is it eminently possible to maintain your friendships under lockdown, talking to people other than those you live and work with is highly advisable if you are to emerge with your sanity intact. Our social lives pivot to video just means a bit more planning.

If its a large group you are trying to meet with, you can gauge everyones availability using the easy web scheduling tool Doodle.

The best platform to use is probably the one the majority of people already have an account with. If everyone is using an iPhone or Apple computer, use FaceTime. WhatsApp permits video calls with up to four participants but, without calling on WhatsApp Web, ties you to your phone.

For many, Skype is a tried and trusted classic that supports up to 50 participants though rarely seamlessly. Otherwise, most people have a Google account, making Hangouts a straightforward choice.

The video conferencing platform Zoom, which has seen its shares spike since the coronavirus outbreak, limits free group calls to 40 minutes but you can always call back.

No matter the platform , some lagging audio and frozen faces are inevitable, especially for large groups. Adding some structure such as a book club, quiz or a table-top role-playing game such as Dungeons & Dragons can be helpful in adjusting to an unfamiliar medium and minimising people talking over each other.

The
The Houseparty app a conversation with eight people. Photograph: houseparty

The Houseparty app might be geared more towards younger groups, having been a fad among kids a few years ago. But now it seems to be a royal platform of choice. Its amazing, I just press a button and all my family pop up, the Duchess of Cornwall reportedly told a friend. The app can alert you when your friends are online, allowing you to effectively drop in on them. It also has in-built games, for up to eight players at a time.

Some people have ramped up, or perhaps rediscovered, their love of gaming as a means of socialising at a distance, with popular games such as Minecraft, Fortnite and Call of Duty all allowing some in-play communication. It is also possible to play board games online, such as at Board Game Arena and for the more hardcore Tabletop Simulator.

For a more relaxed interaction and one that does not demand that you broadcast your face Netflix Party is a Google Chrome extension that permits you to sync your streaming with friends, like a remote movie night.

How to work from home Elle Hunt

Every longtime freelancer knows the secret to effective working from home: put your shoes on. Its really effective in cueing the mindset shift from home is where the couch is to productivity ninja.

The goal is to create a distinction, even one that is mostly symbolic, between work mode and home mode, especially now that you cannot go anywhere else. Setting up a home office, if only a dedicated corner of your kitchen table, that you can arrive at and leave at the days end will help (do make sure you leave).

Your new colleagues may also take some adjusting-to. Novelist Julie Cohen shared on Twitter her top tip for working around family, care of her marriage counsellor: a literal work hat. Train everyone (and yourself) that when youre wearing The Work Hat, they should leave you alone. (And when youre wearing it, you should only work), she tweeted. It will be a talking point on all those video-conferencing calls, too.

Be aware that whatever is visible behind you on your webcam will be under close scrutiny from your colleagues, and inform their judgments of your home, taste and private life. Style accordingly.

Can
Can you recreate the coffee-shop ambience when working at home? The secret may be in the soundtrack. Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo

Those more used to finding their focus in the informal-formality of a cafe or library are now seeking to replicate the effect at home. Gretchen McCulloch, linguist and author of Because The Internet, tweeted that her current strategy was mellow cafe songs playlist With coffee and sitting in a different part of my apartment than usual, recommending an additional background of an eight-hour YouTube stream of Magical Tearoom ASMR Ambience. With the sound of teaspoons tinkling on saucers and hissing espresso machines over gentle indie music, you wont believe its not Starbucks.

You can even fudge together your own overly sweet frappuccino concoction. On the video platform Tik Tok, enterprising teenagers have been filming themselves making dalgona coffee to replicate cafe coffee at home. It is easy to make, if high in caffeine and wasteful of milk: mix equal parts instant coffee, boiling water and sugar about two tbsp per person and whisk. Add more sugar to taste. Once the mixture is stiff and glossy, pour over milk and ice, stir and serve. And whisk it by hand, even if you have an electric maker. It takes ages; the morning will fly by.

How to keep fit in your home Zoe Williams

There is no shortage of material online about how to stay fit at home if anything, the proliferation is the problem. Choice is deadly to motivation, so start by trying to whittle down your options.

What do you want to do each day, and how long do you want to do it for? 15 minutes is reasonable, 30 shows a bit more backbone. Its more habit-forming to do some every day than an hour twice a week.

Joe
Joe Wicks, a phenomenally popular YouTube fitness coach, shows you how to keep fit at home. Photograph: The Body Coach via Getty Images

There are whole-week programmes, such as the book Be Para Fit, or Canadian Air Force Exercises, available on YouTube, that build in your rest days. You can also follow a particular person; Joe Wicks is the obvious one, Adrienne for yoga, and theyll do a daily workout which will make your decisions for you.

If youre of a more independent bent, do a timetable more like a classic cardio/resistance workout for two days, yoga on the third day, cardio/resistance the fourth, something fun like a dance routine on the fifth, resistance on its own for the sixth, yoga on the seventh.

If you used to do regular classes, check to see if theyve gone online; a live-streamed pilates class, at a fixed time, is much more conducive to discipline than roaming freely round WikiHow, trying to find some illustrations that look a bit like your instructor. If you already have some equipment in the house resistance bands, a skipping rope, a mat, a multi-function Fitt Cube you can build your own workouts around those. I would really recommend buying a mat, which youll need for all floor work.

Find the online instructor who irritates you least: over time, itll be a love-hate pendulum, but if you find their voice grating at the start, thats never going to work. If youre feeling nostalgic, almost all the classic workouts Cindy Crawford, Mr Motivator, Rosemary Conley are on YouTube.

Derrick
Derrick Evans, aka Mr Motivator. Photograph: Sam Stephenson/Alamy Stock Photo

If you find all people basically annoying, there are some brilliant illustrated resources like DAREBEE Workouts. If you find it hard to watch and move at the same time, choose one workout and repeat it: after a week, youll be doing it from memory, which is good for morale. Swap it over after a fortnight, though, as theres evidence that you build fitness faster when you do things youre inept at.

Just because theres no professional asking you whether you have any injuries does not mean you can ignore your injuries. Look up first what to avoid with an gammy knee or similar, rather than typing routines for one rubbish knee into Google.

The single most important thing is: dont wait until you feel like it wait long enough, and youll never feel like it. In the words of the prophet Joe Wicks, the bit where you feel good is at the end of the workout, not the beginning.

Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/mar/27/solitary-refinement-a-lockdown-survival-guide

The singer on pouting like Lauren Bacall, DIY hairdos, gardening in nightwear and discovering the joys of colour

This was taken in 1981 or 1982, right at the beginning of my career. All my clothes at that time were secondhand a hangover from being at art college. The top that I wore in the Kids in America video was from Oxfam, and so was this. These are the same boots that I wore in that video, too.

I was a big fan of Lauren Bacall I really loved that she didnt smile for the camera. When I first started having my photograph taken, lots of male photographers would say: Come on Kim, give us a smile! and it used to drive me insane. So I would just think about Bacall and pout furiously, as I am doing in this photograph. I looked thoroughly miserable most of the time, whereas I was having the time of my life.

I was a bit of a tomboy as a teenager, so my style was an extension of that. The hair was my own doing, all out of a [Clairol] Born Blonde packet, and I cut it myself. I wasnt overly interested in fashion, it didnt flick a big switch for me, but I was always in control of what I wore. Sometimes I got it fantastically right, but there were times when I got it horribly wrong.

Aside from music, I also love gardening. If I get up on a sunny morning, I have to stop myself going out in the garden, because I know I will still be there two hours later with my nightie on and a pair of gardening gloves. I also wear clogs, which makes it sound like quite a romantic image!

I have always enjoyed mixing fabrics such as satin and silk and leather, but mostly in black. I wore a lot of black jeans, oversized mens jackets and stripy tops. I am sartorially lazy; I like anything that is easy to get in and out of. As I have got older, I have found an injection of colour goes a long way to brightening up my day. On my Here Come the Aliens tour in 2018 [inspired by Wildes apparent encounter with a UFO in 2009], I thoroughly embraced extraterrestrial fashion. I looked like something out of Barbarella, like I was about to lift off and go exploring.

The UK leg of Kim Wildes Greatest Hits tour begins in September

Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2020/apr/07/kim-wilde-i-look-miserable-but-i-was-having-the-time-of-my-life

Cara Delevingne is the latest celebrity to go for a buzzcut. When I shaved my head, it felt like a way to cut off the past and start again

Shaved heads are having a moment. Cara Delevingnes silver scalp was the talk of the Met Ball last week, following Kristen Stewart sporting a bleached buzzcut in March for a new film role. In the fashion world, Adwoa Aboah and her grade-one fuzz is on the cover of both the latest i-D and LOVE magazines new issue, alongside Slick Woods, another model with a shaved head.

It may be becoming de rigueur, but a woman with a shaved head still invites comment and gets up some peoples noses. Its exhausting to be told what beauty should look like, wrote Delevingne on Instagram, in what seemed like a rebuttal to criticism of her bald look. I am tired of society defining beauty for us. Strip away the clothes, wipe off the makeup, cut off the hair.

When I shaved my head five years ago, there were fewer examples in pop culture. There was Sinad OConnor, of course; and Demi Moore, Solange Knowles and Natalie Portman had all done it at one time or another. I always loved that scene in Empire Records when Robin Tunneys character arrives at work and shaves her head in the bathroom while The Martinis Free plays in the background.

In the 1970s, Grace Jones made the shorn look an expression of fashion and style. I liked how having it short was a threat to people because it made me look so confrontational. It made me look hard, in a soft world, she wrote in her memoir. This explanation doesnt surprise me; my reasons for shaving my head were deeply psychological.

Solange
Solange Knowles when she had short hair. Photograph: Brown/EPA/Rex/Shutterstock

Bzzz. Bzzz. I can still remember the sound and the feeling of having my head shaved for the first time. It was a warm evening in July, I had some kind of throat infection and we were about to go on holiday. I had been dyeing my hair various colours of the rainbow since I was 12. The only options I had left were green or shaved. I was about to start a new job and felt, for a few reasons, that I was starting again. Shaved it would be. As my hair dropped to the floor, and we went shorter and shorter with the clippers, I felt lighter, liberated, ecstatic. It sounds ridiculous, but the effect was so powerful that my tonsils, or whatever it was, stopped hurting.

I had recently stopped drinking and I wanted to cut off the past and its boozy repetitions, to shed a side of me that was dangerous and destructive. I wanted to raze myself to ground zero and build myself back up again. Shaving my head felt like the most elemental and easy way to do it. Perhaps it was also a reaction against a conception of life as a sober person. It felt like an emboldening, a taking control of my identity, something anarchic and subversive in the face of a lifetime of Diet Coke, tea and early-to-bed. It also felt a bit brave, as if by doing it I could front away the fear of life without my crutch. In those early months, I felt raw, as if my skin had been removed, and having a shaved head somehow made me feel stronger.

When you find yourself drunk all the time, or hungover, your self-esteem can take a kicking. It took time to build mine back, but having a shaved head gave me a starting point. It also affirmed in me the simple concept of growth as intrinsic to life (well, for a while), that things change and move forward. Hair grows. Patterns can be broken. Neurons adapt.

The reaction was, shall we say, mixed. Friends seemed to like it, but elderly relatives? Not so much. My mother cried the first time she saw it, because she thought I looked ill. A friends mother told me it looked awful and scary. My grandmother was upset because it reminded her of images of people in Nazi concentration camps. I was a lot more comfortable at a festival or in a city rather than the rural corners of Scotland or the news desk of the newspaper where I was working at the time.

Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2017/may/07/when-a-woman-crops-her-hair-it-can-send-a-powerful-message

Its been short, long, straight and punky reflecting the twists and turns of my life and my homeland, Cameroon

In the summer of 2002, I walked into a hair salon in New Jersey and asked a stylist to cut off all my hair. I was done having hair. Enough with the pain of straightening it with a chemical that scalded parts of my scalp and left others in blisters. Enough with the discomfort of braiding it eight hours of tugging and wincing followed by painkillers to ease the soreness, or a full day of not being able fully to turn my head.

Free me from this burden, I told the stylist, who stared at me, confused, while I ranted. She tried to convince me merely to trim it, but I told her I wanted it all gone. Reluctantly, she obliged and I walked out that afternoon to the sensation of the wind on my bare scalp. The feeling was ineffable, my newfound freedom unquantifiable.

I regrew my hair into a short afro and cut it all off again before it reached the length where its coarseness made combing a battle. I did this several times, until I decided to stop with the cutting. Why was I running away from my hairs texture, I asked myself: wouldnt it be better and healthier to embrace it? It certainly wouldnt be easier, I knew that, but I decided to experiment nonetheless, determined to confront every knot and tangle and find the beauty therein.

Last November, while detangling (a process that takes at least an hour and requires a lot of oil and patience), I received a phone call from a friend. There was an uprising in Cameroon, she said. Hundreds of our fellow anglophone Cameroonians were rioting and protesting. The government had unleashed its soldiers. Some protesters had been arrested. A few might be dead. Our struggle the anglophone problem was back in the spotlight. I sighed, too disturbed to respond. Hadnt we had enough?

Imbolo
Despite the governments rhetoric about equality, it was clear to me, even as a child, that power emanated from the French-speaking regions of Cameroon. Photograph: Flora Hanitijo for the Guardian

I was perhaps seven years old when I realised I was anglophone, and therefore a member of my countrys linguistic minority. Television had just arrived in Cameroon, and most of the programmes on our sole TV channel were in French. Not that I minded: it was the 80s and, like most children in our village, I was simply happy to have a screen to stare at. There were music videos from all over Africa, and white people kissing and laughing in places we knew little about. For adults who wanted to know what was happening beyond the village, the nightly news was broadcast in English, right after the French version. Scarcely knowledgeable about the outside world, I thought much of the globe was made up of bilingual countries. It was only when I was a preteen, living in my hometown of Limbe, that I began to comprehend the challenges of being English-speaking in a predominantly French-speaking country.

How did our country come to be so divided? Colonialism: how else? The Portuguese discovered us, but didnt stay long. The Germans came next, ruling for decades. After the first world war, we became the property of France and Britain, and France took the bulk. French Cameroon gained independence in 1960, and the following year, the British-ruled part chose to reunite with it. Our nation was reborn as two fully autonomous states, and the constitution included clauses to ensure that the bigger, French-speaking partner did not overwhelm its smaller companion.

But overwhelm it did. Under the guise of national unity, Cameroons francophone president sponsored a referendum in 1972, and it became an autocratic, one-party state. Cameroon is now divided into 10 regions: eight francophone and two anglophone, with anglophones comprising roughly 17% of the population.

By the time I started secondary school in 1991, this minority was deep in post-reunification regret. Despite the governments rhetoric about equality, it was clear to me, even as a child, that power emanated from the French-speaking regions. Virtually every high-ranking government official was francophone. The government-owned oil refinery in Limbe was run largely by francophones; few people from my community could get jobs there. Our president, Paul Biya, in power since 1982, is a francophone. His cabinet was made up almost exclusively of francophones.

Throughout my preteen years, I heard stories of the disadvantages my older relatives and neighbours had faced. Students who attended the countrys sole university, in the francophone capital of Yaound, returned home with reports of how they were ashamed to speak English on campus, ridiculed for their attempts at French, and derogatorily referred to as anglo-fou.

Imbolo
Imbolo Mbue in Limbe in the mid-90s with her punk

But these disadvantages had little impact on my daily life. I walked with friends to school in the morning, and in the evening we played sizo (rope-jumping) and dodging (a game like dodgeball).

School pupils in anglophone Cameroon were forbidden from having long hair, unlike in francophone Cameroon, where the rules were much looser; so my friends and I made frequent visits to neighbourhood barbers, or asked family members to clip off our hair with scissors. Some of us sported a rond-touche (evenly cut head of hair), while others, myself included, had what we called a punk, our name for a hightop fade the higher the top, the more stylish. Once, I asked the barber to put two lines on each side, la MC Hammer, for added flair. I loved my punks and how easy they were to comb. Francophone children had long hair, francophone adults ruled the country but I couldnt be more pleased to be an anglophone.

Anglophone adults, however, were growing increasingly unhappy with their second-class citizenship. When I was 11, an anglophone named Ni John Fru Ndi ran for president in Cameroons first multi-party elections, losing to Biya. Believing the election had been stolen several third-party observers supported their claim Ndis supporters rioted across the country the day the results were announced.

I remember running home from school that day with a cousin, passing through our towns deserted open-air market where stalls had been turned upside down, baskets of green vegetables and smoked fish scattered all over by traders who had been forced to flee gunfire and teargas. I hid in my cousins house until the evening, when the rioting ceased and it was safe to go home.

Hundreds were beaten, imprisoned and killed for daring to protest, but Ndi and his followers did not relent. Though his partys initials, SDF, stood for the Social Democratic Front, the hopeful among us decided that it stood for suffer don finish: pidgin English for suffering is over. That phrase soon became part of our local parlance, and we made up songs about it. Oh my brothers, suffer don finish, oh, we sang, suffer don finish. But no matter how often we sang, the end of suffering appeared nowhere in sight, even as we heard new reports of the arrest or imprisonment of protesters, opposition figures or journalists whose writings were deemed too subversive. That year, I learned a significant lesson: standing up against a government was a dangerous thing.

It was in this political climate that an anglophone secessionist movement arose, calling for the creation of a new country Southern Cameroon. Could it really happen, I asked a teacher. Never, she replied: the governments plan was to keep Cameroon united for ever. By the late 90s, the secessionist movement had mostly fizzled out. Around then, I finished high school and, thanks to the generosity of relatives, left Limbe to attend college in America.

I arrived in the States with my hair mid-length and straight because, well, I was on the verge of becoming an adult, and at home adult women grew their hair and chemically straightened it. After so many years of having a punk, it was good to graduate.

Many things about America fascinated me: burgers, department stores, the plethora of products designed to keep my hair straight. The first time I sat down to watch TV in my relatives apartment, I was struck that every show on every channel was in English: America was anglophone, like me. Eventually, of course, I realised Id exchanged one minority status for another (racial), and the ordeals were strangely familiar.

My friends at college also had straight hair. If I didnt go to the local African salon to get my hair braided, one of them straightened it for me in my dorm, my scalp scalding almost every time. Beautiful hair came at a price, but I figured a scalp dotted with blisters was mine: cest la vie.

Novelist
Mbue today. Photograph: Flora Hanitijo for the Guardian

After college, unable to find a well-paid job, I wondered if I would be better off returning home. Family and friends reminded me that, because I spoke little French, I would have difficulty. So I decided to move to New York for graduate school, a big financial challenge. Not long after, I entered what I call my hair wilderness years.

I cut it to a short afro, coloured it, grew it, cut it and, years later, started braiding and chemically straightening it again, despite the inevitable scalding. I wished I didnt have the thick, tangle-prone hair that shrunk upon contact with water; but I loved how it meant so little to me that I could cut it off or change its colour, and not feel Id lost anything of worth. When I realised this indifference was in fact deep-seated negativity, I went to a mens barbershop. Just as I had done 10 years earlier, I asked for them to buzz it all off.

***

Four years later, my hair journey continues, as does anglophone Cameroons journey to lasting equality. Our lawyers, students and teachers began protesting for constitutional rights. at the end of 2016. Online, I watch videos of soldiers beating peaceful protestors. On 21 November last year, in the Anglophone city of Bamenda, someone was killed; on 8 December, four more. More than 100 protesters were reportedly arrested and taken to Yaound; rumours are circulating that they will be tried for terrorism and could face the death penalty if found guilty.

The government denies the existence of an anglophone problem, only a group of manipulated and exploited extremist rioters. Students in the anglophone region have not yet returned to school, because teachers remain on strike. Soldiers are patrolling the streets. Most offices and businesses remain closed, and civil servants have declared that they wont be returning to work until the government agrees to a dialogue. The government has shut down internet access across the anglophone regions.

Despite all this, Cameroon remains home, tangled and twisted as it might be. Even those of us who left it in search of a better life cannot wait to visit, because home is home. And our home is a beautiful one, with emerald hills and black sand beaches; dense rainforests and regal waterfalls. Our makossa music can keep you dancing all night, and our soccer team, though pitiful these days, once made history at the 1990 World Cup.

Our country so often makes no sense to us, but every chance we get, we cannot resist chanting, Cameroon oh yay! Cameroon oh yay! If we protest and risk death or imprisonment, it is because we believe our country has the potential to become the land of promise, land of glory we sing about in our national anthem.

My afro is now bigger than its ever been. I keep growing it, despite the fact that, with every added inch, the challenge of managing it multiplies. Ours is an idiosyncratic love affair, one I celebrate alongside my numerous identities which include: black, woman, immigrant, Cameroonian, anglophone, African, American, human. Perhaps Ill cut off my hair again one of these days (to try a new style, or just because I feel like it). But, for now, just like my beloved homeland, it reminds me that, within a tangled, twisted, knotty situation, beauty resides.

Imbolo Mbues debut novel, Behold the Dreamers, is published next week by 4th Estate at 12.99. To order a copy for 10.99, go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846.

Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2017/feb/04/every-inch-challenge-multiplies-afro-imbolo-mbue-hair-cameroon

The famous hairstylist, whose tall, conical beehive became popular among celebrities in the 1960s, died on Friday at a Chicago senior living community

Margaret Vinci Heldt, who became a hairstyling celebrity after she created the famous beehive hairdo in 1960, has died at age 98.

Ahlgrim Funeral Home in the Chicago suburb of Elmhurst said on Monday that Heldt died on Friday at a senior living community.

The beehive a tall, conical womans hairstyle became a cultural phenomenon during the 1960s and evolved into a style worn for decades as Hollywoods starlets walked red carpets. Heldt created it at the request of a hairstyling magazine that published images of it in February 1960 and called it the beehive because it resembles the shape of a traditional hive.

amy
Amy Winehouse was known for her beehive hairstyle. Photograph: Kevork Djansezian/AP

I have lived a charmed life, Heldt said in a 2011 interview with the Associated Press. The opportunities opened to me and I said, Now its up to me. I have to make it work.

Heldt said the inspiration for the hairstyle came from a little black velvet hat, shaped like a small bump and lined inside with red lace. Heldt went downstairs to her family room one night while her family was sleeping. She put on music and started working with hair atop a mannequin head.

The magazine article described the hairdo as a tall wraparound crown, creating a circular silhouette with high-rise accents. Over the years, it was worn by cultural icons, including Amy Winehouse, Audrey Hepburn and Marge Simpson.

Heldt grew up in Chicago and loved hair as a child. She won a beauty school scholarship in high school, but her family couldnt afford to buy her a hair switch a piece of fabric with long hair attached so students could practice so she cut her mothers long hair into a short bob and sewed that on to burlap to use in class. She passed the state board exam in 1935.

Heldt opened her own salon Margaret Vinci Coiffures on Michigan Avenue in 1950. She won the National Coiffure Championship in 1954.

Heldt earned accolades during her retirement. The trade group Cosmetologists Chicago named a scholarship for Heldt for creativity in hairdressing.

Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2016/jun/13/margaret-vinci-heldt-dies-age-98-beehive-hairstyle