Farrah Fawcett through the years | Fawcett, 1947-2009

God bless my hairstylist Eric, he tried to dissuade me.

“You really don’t have the right hair for that,” he said, glancing from the natural curls on my 11-year-old head to the dog-eared Farrah Fawcett spiral notebook on my lap.

But my mother was a customer at his tony Houston salon, and so, with a sigh, he carved my unmanageable tresses into something that resembled Farrah’s trademark mane …

Until the unforgiving Texas humidity enveloped me.

I’d had a girl crush on Farrah since she’d ascended to worldwide fame on Charlie’s Angels two years earlier.

How I loved that show and its characters’ heroics (and their Nolan Miller-designed clothes).

My friends and I spent many an afternoon reenacting the latest episode, and while I usually had to portray Kate Jackson’s Sabrina Duncan, Farrah’s Jill Munroe was always my favorite – her golden-girl looks, and locks, so different from my own.

For Halloween in 1977, I dressed as Farrah – a lousy costume for a pale, prepubescent brunette. On each doorstep, I had to explain who I was, with a flip of the frosted wig I’d borrowed from my mom and a flash of an overly toothy grin.

Soon, the wig wasn’t enough. I wanted big, bouncy Farrah hair in real life!

And so Eric gamely cut, blow-dried, curled and sprayed.

The result was foxy, all right – for roughly 24 hours.

But when I tried to reproduce the look at home, just as Eric had predicted, the ‘do was nothing but a don’t.

I was hardly alone. On Friday, the day after Farrah died, women in their early 40s posted pictures of themselves from the days of flips, feathers and Aqua Net, and reminisced about their failed efforts to imitate a true icon in hair history.

“Aah. The curling irons. The hair spray. The futility,” wrote one.

Yes, the futility.

But in our efforts, we gamely paid tribute to the kind of heavenly creature who can’t be duplicated.