By 1:45 PM, Clara was in the restroom of the office building. She worked a tiny drop of the oil through her ends and gave her roots a targeted blast of the spray. The frizz vanished, replaced by a sophisticated, "I-definitely-have-my-life-together" shine.
"I need the Gold Lust," she whispered to her reflection. "I need Oribe."
She grabbed her bag and hit the pavement. She knew Oribe wasn't the kind of thing you just picked up at a corner drugstore; it was the "liquid gold" of the hair world, and she needed it now .
The humidity in the city was relentless, turning Clara’s carefully styled waves into a tragic, frizzy halo the moment she stepped out of her apartment. She had an interview at 2:00 PM—the kind that could change her life—and her hair was currently staging a mutiny.