For weeks, I kept a close watch on my hair. Every morning I’d inspect my pillowcase, counting the strands its cottony trap had claimed in the course of the night and wondering if it was time to wave the white flag. On the day that answer finally became “yes,” I woke up to my pillowcase covered more than ever before. I couldn’t count the strands; there were far too many. I got into the shower. As the water washed over me, I became engulfed in hair ― in my eyes, in my mouth. I was choking on my