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Wednesday, October 17, 2007

I mean, really?

Here's the deal. I have this tendency to get a hair cut, not love it, grow it out for...ever, and then get it cut again, only to repeat this cycle every 6 months or so. Stupid, I know. It could just be that I am lazy. It could just be that I am picky. It could just be that indeed, there isn't a hairstyle that will make me look thinner, taller, more beautiful and require very little morning preparation. I'm desperately hoping I'm just lazy. At any rate, I don't have a "hairstyle" because I have had a terrible awful horrible time finding one that I both like and am able to do myself.

Typically, I go in to get my haircut and I sit there and tell the stylist, the one who went to school and was trained to cut my hair, exactly what I think my hair should look like. And to their credit and detriment (and my eventual disappointment) they have done exactly as I have asked almost every time. I sit there while they spritz and blowdry and fuss until yes, I look pretty nice. I get home and all is well until...dududun...the morning after. Its times like that morning after when I can identify with Britney Spears' head shaving incident. I'm just that tempted.

To their credit, my friends and family are normally very encouraging. "Oh, your hair looks nice!" they'll say. I mumble an embarassed thanks and then quickly move the conversation over to some other topic. And I can usually believe that it does in fact look nice and I have no reason to be so self-absorbed about my hair.

In an effort to overcome this problem, I decided I needed to just find a stinkin' hairstyle that works for me and stick with it. Even if it means getting it cut every 2 months. So when a new salon opened up, I paid attention. I heard good things. It was run by a gay man - not many of those around these parts. In my head I'm thinking this will be like Queer Eye for the Straight Girl - you know, a professional this-is-what-you-need-to-have-done experience. I scheduled my appointment.

I made a careful point NOT to tell him what I thought my hair should look like when I sat down between him and the mirror. I simply told him I needed hair help and that I needed a cut that flattered my face. He made suggestions and told me what he was going to do. Fine. While he was shampooing my hair, he pointed out I needed a pedicure. Good way to make me feel self-conscious. While he was blow drying my hair he chased a fly with the hairdryer. Strange. When he finished I was mostly happy with what he had done. When I paid he asked me, rather rudely, if I was going to wait another 6 months to come back in. I laughed, but it wasn't funny. And when I got home I realized that my most expensive haircut was officially my worst. Ugh. It is so uneven, the loopsidedness is actually visible from across the room. I can't really tell you what I like about it because, well, there isn't much of anything I like about it. I am disappointed.

Yeah, okay, maybe I expected too much. Maybe I expected to get this haircut and to walk out of the salon and absolutely stop traffic. (I did have to wait for the traffic signal.) I really hoped to come home and have Hubby say 'wow, you look incredible'. I was hoping that this guy would wave a magic wand and make my hair into something it really can't be. I wanted to walk out the door and feel oh so good about myself. Instead I walked out the door, tucked my hair behind my ears, looked at my shameful toes, and felt embarassd that he could tell I hadn't had a haircut in six months. I'm not going back.

1 comment:

laura said...

Ha ha! Hate to say it, but I can totally relate. Sorry you hate your hair now. Welcome to my club. I still love you. :)