Not that that has ever stopped me using it. Squirt it on your roots to take the edge off your re-growth, keep a bottle of it in your desk draw for instant office volume and yes, use it when your hair looks like it needs washing and you thought you could get away with it but actually, in the harsh light of day, realise you can’t (that’s the rank bit that attracts greasy-haired students to the product and rather lowers its credibility and beauty-fabulousness).
I love mine and have been a convert ever since I stumbled upon a can of the stuff when I was working on the Schwarzkopf account as a PR girl in London. Highly prone to put anything on my hair without thinking too hard about it, (I’ve had black, brown, purple and red hair in my day) theirs, ‘Batiste’, was the first product on the UK market and it became a whispered about beauty staple.
The general public took a bit more convincing, but now, ten years on (in England anyway) dry shampoo has become massively popular. Even the tiny Boots in the small market town of Launceston, Cornwall, that I shopped at when I was over in December has devoted a whole two shelves to the product (they only have about 10 shelves in the entire shop).
It’s actually ideal for all of us here in Sing, when a tropical climate can make your hair go from ibu-ibu to pancake flat in a matter of minutes. A mini can is now firmly ensconced in the depths of my cavernous handbag, probably to never be seen again (but it’s nice to know that it’s there – somewhere – for my next hair emergency).