How I Came to Adore the Weird World of ASMR
A reluctant embrace of the sparkles in my head
I first became aware of the sparks in my scalp in 1984. Summer was fading and a nice lady was cutting my hair. She walked around to the front of my chair, leaned over, put her face in direct line with mine, and made a few quick snips with her scissors on each side of my head. Chills emanated in a starburst from my occipital bone and trickled down my neck, dissipating as they dropped. At the same time, electric fingertips crawled up my scalp to the crown of my head. I felt good. I felt happy and not because I had a nifty new do.
It wasn’t just haircuts that sparked my charge. My pediatrician was a family friend so she was my doctor from the age of four until I left for college. In my teens, team sports required you to get a physical. It felt unsettling to have a family friend cup my balls and ask me to cough in a room decorated with Winnie the Pooh and friends. The Piglet-adjacent ball cupping was uncomfortable but the most confusing moments of the visits actually occurred when she checked my ears and eyes. When Dr. Foster held the retinoscope in front of my eyes, electric effervescence flushed from the top of my head down to my temples, like happy goose pimples under my skin. I didn’t know what it was other than happy.
