the hair.
I love my hair stylist/hair cutter person/"hair strand manipulator" - as a person. Larry has excellent hair, dresses the way I'd probably dress if I were a guy, and is, in general, a nice person. and he even cuts my hair well. (and larry is, against stereotypes, hetero, fyi.)
but the styling? uh uh. I would tell him to just leave it air dry (lord knows I'm going to go home and do it myself anyways, so why waste product) but he seems to really enjoy styling my hair. like he gets to run around me in circles spritzing, ironing, curling...maybe he thinks to himself "she dresses the way I'd dress if I were a girl" and just runs with that. but he styles with such abandon that I feel badly telling him not to bother with the control paste for today. so off he goes, gleefully scrunching and plugging things in and spritzing.
I have had the same basic hair cut for the past 5 months. I come in to get it tweaked and trimmed, but each time I leave, I look like a different maniac. (and I do look like a maniac when I get out of there.) once, he decided to flatiron the whole thing. but I'm not sure if he were sick on the day they learned about flatirons at jean madeline, because he ironed my hair in such a way that it looked like I had stuck a finger in the light socket. seriously.
the next time, in an effort to keep him away from the flatiron, I said I liked it curly. now, my hair is long on the sides, but short in the back. (just go with me here.) instead of curling the pieces that naturally curl in my hair (so why curl them at all? the mind boggles) he decided to curl all of it. even the pieces that are roughly an inch long. in all different directions. so I left the salon looking like a deranged remake of "whatever happened to baby jane" featuring shirley temple instead of baby jane hudson.
this wouldn't be such a problem if I went to a normal salon. leave the building, get in car, walk in house, get in shower, problem solved. instead, my salon is located in the plymouth meeting mall, along with my most favorite store, h&m. there is also an h&m in the mall closer to my house, but it doesn't have baby clothes. so I always make the hair appointment coincide with a shopping run. in order to get back in time for TV, er, family time, I usually have larry cut my hair around 6ish, then hit h&m before leaving. so what happens is I leave the salon looking garish and walking through the mall scaring people. or at least soliciting many, many stares.
I guess I should be somewhat happy about the situation, though, because it's really difficult to spend alot of money on clothes for myself when the stress of trying things on in front of a full length mirror with harsh lighting is compounded by catching stray glimpses of the inconvenience on top of my head.
but last night, after getting my hair cut, it was more than an idle stroll through the racks at h&m that I was planning - I seriously need clothing, since none of my old stuff fits right post-bella. and let's face it, I want new clothes. but I think last night's haircut took the prize for all-time worst styling...and this time, it wasn't all larry's fault.
this time, it was the cut AND the styling. and I am the one who told him to cut it that way.
now, when larry gets done styling my hair, even he looks a little skeptical at the results. but short of washing it and starting all over again, there's not much to be done. however, this time, larry was more than just a little skeptical. and my usual poker face was crumbling, too. people, this hair cut is BAAAAAD.
let's just say this - 2 different sizes of flatirons AND a curling iron AND about 6 different styling products on top of my bad haircut. okay? the possibilities in your mind...picture the worst and that is what I looked like, about to embark on serious spring wardrobe choices.
I left the mall with 2 shirts that were the same as ones I already own, only in different colors. because those were the only things I *didn't* try on. and I got home at 9pm. do the math. that's alot of clothes having been tried on.
I came back to sean and trent, who just stared at me for a few long moments. and when those two can realize that my hair is bad, it's reaaaal bad.
I'm wondering if I have to divorce larry. in divorcing larry, I am divorcing the entire salon. I'm not sure if I am ready for that step yet...we'll have to see what happens next time.
4 validations:
A bad haircut is a horrible, horrible feeling. It is anger, sadness, hopelessness and panic all rolled into one. And then when you go home and your loved ones obviously don't know what to say it is a million times worse. I know that feeling well. Almost as well as I know how it feels to spend hours shopping and trying things on and finding nothing that feels right, fits right - and wanting to just schlump down on the dressing room floor and give up. Don't you wish we were men?
There's a book out there called "Breaking Up With Your Hairdresser: How to Lie, Fake, Maneuver Your Way out of Awkward Situations." Check it.
And then break up with Larry. He's totally holding you back. There are plenty of competent and/or excellent hairdressers in the city of Philadelphia. As well as an H&M. And a few of your friends.
You're hard on yourself. I have a difficult time believing that your hair is really that bad, since the hyperbole with which you've decribed yourself in the past was hardly justified.
But maybe it is that bad, I haven't seen it, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt.
One thing I know for sure is that every single time I see you, whether it's days, weeks, or months apart, your hair always looks completely different. It must grow fast.
At the very least, you know you look better than this.
Are you still going to Rapunzel's? Larry isn't the guy from Dublin, is he? I loved that guy.
Bad haircuts are the worst. I've had my share. Take this, for example. Or this.
Feel better?
Post a Comment