Wednesday, June 18, 2014
We're funny about our hair, aren't we? I mean, I get it. It's a big part of our appearance, and it can be a big part of our personality. Unless you are a young boy, and then you probably don't care about it. At all.
I have curly hair. It was blonde when I was a kid, darker blonde as a young adult, and then I had kids. And either pregnancy or motherhood turned my hair into this very unfortunate ashy brown non-color. So I fake it. I get my hair colored, and have been coloring it for almost two decades, off and on. I'm also starting to sprout some gray ones, so the coloring has become even more important. I have it done at a salon rather than doing it myself from a box. Not because I have any problem with coloring your own hair, I'm just really bad at it. I choose the wrong color, and I for some reason have an awful time getting all my hair covered with the goo--it ends up a horrible mess. So I leave it to the professionals.
Since a trip to the salon is ridiculously expensive, I always put it off until desperation sets in, which sometimes results in some strange decision-making on my part.
My poor, frizzy, overgrown, odd-colored hair had been in a ponytail for months. I was sick of it, and so I started scouring the internet for hairstyle ideas. Ready for a change. I googled medium length curly hair styles, and found hundreds of lovely images of women with beautiful hair. I was being realistic, I thought, choosing styles I thought looked low-maintenance and age appropriate, and colors that I liked. I put a few on Facebook to get some input on which one I should pick.
I went into the salon yesterday, armed with my photos and ready. I do not have a regular stylist, folks. I went to one girl for several years about 10 years ago, but then she moved away. Other than her, I don't think I've ever been to the same person twice. I'm always looking for a more reasonable price, and I've not had an amazing enough experience yet to feel like I've found my person. Or maybe I actually don't care that much.
So in I went, same place I went to last time, but different girl. This one was young. That can be a positive or a negative. She was happy I brought in a picture. I took out my ponytail holder and she started cutting away.
The pile on the floor was a little unnerving.
I have short hair now. Short. There is no place on my head where the hair is long enough to be pulled into a ponytail holder. It is so short that it curled up way more than normal, and turned into a ball. A round, bumpy ball.
She nailed the color though. I'm happy with that.
You know what's weird? The whole experience of being at a salon. I hate it, personally. I'm a pretty social person, but I feel SO awkward at the salon. Having your hair brushed, cut, washed, dried, colored and styled is a very intimate thing, and you're having it done by a stranger. Some lady you've never met before is running their hand through your hair, washing it, leaning in really close to you, and practically dragging their boobs in your face while they wash your hair. If you think about it, it's really weird. And the whole time they're making small talk with you. I always feel so gross. The ladies are always more done up than me, usually very pretty, and I have come in feeling like my hair is disgusting (which is why I made the appointment in the first place). They proceed to drape a tent around me, fluff out my overgrown, colorless hair, stand behind me in the mirror and look at me through my reflection to talk about the plan. I look like a tipi with a head, under too much lighting and no make up. Then I have to sit there for a VERY long time in front of a ginormous mirror. And don't get me started on how I look with the crazy foils all in there, when I'm sitting for half hour trying not to look at myself in the mirror... It's godawful, really. When they're done, I usually look at least better than I did when I came in, so I pay, get a little gut rot at how much it cost, thank them, gush about the great job they did, and hurry to my car to check it out in the privacy of my rear-view mirror. Then I rush home to try to "fix" it the way I want it. It's no wonder I go so infrequently.
Anyway, yesterday she did do a nice job. She got the color just right, and she cut it pretty much like the picture I brought in. It just ended up a couple inches shorter. And my hair does curl up, so it ends up even shorter when it dries. Thus, the bumpy round ball.
I got home and ran to the bathroom before anyone could see me. But I couldn't do much with it, so after fiddling with it, I just went out to face the men in my house. My sweet J gave me a hug and said it looks really pretty. I think he was just concerned because I looked like I was going to cry. When A saw me his eyes got as big as golf balls, and he just said, "you look really different! I don't even recognize you...." And the hubby said "wow." I couldn't tell what it meant, but he said he really liked the color.
It's so stupid, really. In two weeks it will have grown out a little bit, the shock factor will be gone, and I'll have figured out something to do with it. It will be a non-issue. But for now, it's sort of terrifying.
Here's the pictures I brought in: