Dry Shampoo: A Love Story / I Tried to Meditate and Ended Up Stressing About Meditating

There are two types of people in this world: those who wash their hair every day, and those who understand the quiet, powerful beauty of dry shampoo. Similarly, there are those who can meditate like serene, grounded monks—and then there’s me, lying flat on the floor, overthinking my breathing and wondering if it counts as "mindfulness" if I’m mentally adding oat milk to my grocery list.

This is the story of how I came to love dry shampoo with the passion of a thousand unwashed scalps, and how I discovered that inner peace might be harder to achieve than a decent hair day.

Let’s begin where most beauty-related love stories start: with laziness disguised as efficiency.

Chapter 1: Dry Shampoo – The Unwashed Hero We Deserve

I didn’t grow up with dry shampoo. It wasn’t in the mainstream until we all collectively admitted we don’t want to wash our hair every day. For decades, shampoo commercials had us believing that only silky, freshly washed hair was acceptable. Enter adulthood, real jobs, commuting, existential dread, and eventually—Batiste.

The first time I tried dry shampoo, I expected miracles. I sprayed it in, waited a few seconds, and fluffed my roots like a YouTube beauty guru. The white powdery cast made me look like I aged 50 years in 5 seconds, but I powered through. After a vigorous brush-through, my hair looked… okay.

Not freshly washed, but not disgusting either.

It was passable. And that, my friends, was enough.

Because the second time I used dry shampoo? It was 8 AM. I had slept through my alarm, I had a Zoom call in 15 minutes, and I hadn't washed my hair in four days. Dry shampoo didn't just refresh my scalp. It saved my entire morning.

That was the moment I knew: this wasn't just a product. It was a partner. A confidant. A chemical ally in my never-ending war against time, sweat, and effort.

Chapter 2: The Honeymoon Phase

We were in love, dry shampoo and I.

I tried all the brands. Batiste for volume. Living Proof for luxury. Klorane when I was feeling French and fragile. I had dry shampoos for different moods, different days, different hair-part directions. I even got into tinted dry shampoo (a slippery slope that once left me with suspicious brown streaks on my pillowcase, but I digress).

Suddenly, three-day hair wasn’t just acceptable—it was a look. I was the queen of tousled, voluminous “second-day” waves… that were, in reality, fifth-day strands full of secrets.

My trash was full of empty cans. My friends were converted. I became that person who said, “Honestly, dry shampoo changed my life,” and I meant it.

It gave me something I’d never had before: freedom.

Chapter 3: The Cracks Begin to Show

Like any relationship, the honeymoon phase eventually ended.

The buildup started subtly. My hair, once bouncy after a few spritzes, began to rebel. It felt heavy. A bit crunchy. My scalp itched. My roots looked suspiciously gray—not the good silver-fox gray, more like “I just got into a flour fight” gray.

I googled: “Can dry shampoo cause hair loss?”

Google said yes. Suddenly, the love of my life became a toxic ex.

I tried to quit. I swore I’d go back to regular shampoo, live clean, be good. I bought scalp scrub. I tried apple cider vinegar rinses (do not recommend). But every time I felt lazy, tired, or slightly greasy, I’d run back into dry shampoo’s cold, aerosol embrace.

It’s not perfect. But it’s there. Reliable. Ever-faithful. A little dirty, maybe—but aren’t we all?

Transition: Enter Mindfulness

Around this time—when my hair was thriving on fumes and sheer willpower—I decided I needed a new self-care routine that didn’t involve chemicals or pretending to have showered.

Everyone was talking about mindfulness. Meditation apps were booming. Gwyneth Paltrow was glowing (and definitely shampooing regularly, but that’s another conversation). The idea of sitting still and breathing on purpose sounded doable. I figured: if I could skip washing my hair for six days straight and still show up to work, I could definitely sit on the floor and think about nothing for 10 minutes.

So I downloaded a meditation app.

And that, dear reader, is when the second spiral began.

Chapter 4: I Tried to Meditate and Ended Up Stressing About Meditating

Day one was promising. I found a guided meditation called “Let Go of Overthinking,” which felt personally targeted, but okay. The woman’s voice was calm. The music was soft. I closed my eyes and breathed in. Out.

She said, “Let your thoughts float by like clouds.”

My first thought: What if I don’t have clouds, but like…a tornado?

Then I remembered I left my laundry in the machine.

Then I remembered I have to email Susan back.

Then I wondered if Susan meditates. She seems like she would. Her desk is very clean.

Then I caught myself thinking—and judged myself for it.

“Am I doing this wrong? Am I allowed to be thinking about not thinking?”

The voice said, “It’s okay if your mind wanders.”

I took that personally.

By minute five, I was spiraling into a loop of thoughts about thoughts about thinking too much. I wasn’t relaxing. I was just... quietly panicking while pretending to be zen. A fraud in leggings.

Chapter 5: The Self-Care Shame Spiral

After my failed attempt at meditation, I turned to Instagram, hoping to relate to someone. Bad idea. Everyone else seemed to be thriving in their morning routines: sunrise yoga, green smoothies, candlelit journaling, eucalyptus showers. I had… dry shampoo and anxiety.

I told myself I’d try again. The next day, I sat cross-legged and set a five-minute timer.

I made it three minutes before opening my eyes and checking how much time was left.

I was stressing about how I wasn't relaxing fast enough.

Meditation, which was supposed to calm me, had become another item on the to-do list I was failing to complete. It joined the ranks of “drink more water,” “stop doomscrolling,” and “figure out what ‘inner child work’ actually means.”

The self-care industrial complex had gotten to me.

Chapter 6: Learning to Let Go (Sort of)

Eventually, I stopped forcing it. I still tried to meditate sometimes—but now, I call it "lying down and being quiet." I stopped trying to be perfect at mindfulness. Some days, I count my breaths. Other days, I think about tacos and fall asleep. That’s life.

Same with dry shampoo. I stopped expecting miracles. I now treat it like the friend who shows up late to brunch but brings good gossip. Not dependable for everything, but a crucial part of the ecosystem.

I even started washing my hair more consistently again—not every day, but enough to remind my scalp that I care. And when I don’t, I grab my old, trusty can and spray away my sins.

And maybe that’s the secret to modern self-care: you don’t have to be good at it.

You just have to keep showing up, mess and all.

Chapter 7: The Romance of Imperfection

In the end, dry shampoo and meditation have more in common than I thought.

They’re both shortcuts to feeling like you have your life together.
They both come with a lot of expectation and marketing.
They both promise transformation but deliver in small, often invisible ways.
And when done without pressure, they can make a difference.

But they don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to be perfect. It’s okay to spray a little too much and end up looking like George Washington. It’s okay to meditate and still think about whether your houseplants are judging you. It’s okay to try, and fail, and try again.

That’s not failure. That’s life.

Final Thoughts: Inner Peace Comes in Sprays and Silence

I’ll probably never be one of those people who wakes up at 5 AM to meditate and do gratitude journaling while sipping on ashwagandha tea. But I am someone who knows that dry shampoo can make a Tuesday feel like a win, and that lying down with your eyes closed—even if your mind wanders—is still better than doomscrolling for 90 minutes.