I fired my hairdresser. It was simple, painless, fast and necessary. And it was time. I'd been seeing him for almost 4 years, and he was okay--just okay--while my hair was still and only a pixie cut; but in the past year, I began to want more; I needed some things to change, and for that, I suffered needlessly. Still, I was unwilling to let the relationship end, although it was merely a business agreement. I am not always good at such things, even when they prove without question to be detrimental; I hang in there. I make excuses for the other person. I tell myself patience is my finest virtue, when really, I am being passive. It is a character defect I am working on. Trust me.
My former hairdresser has seemed fairly checked out for the past year. I mean, pleasant and all (albeit spacey), but I was really, really consistently hating what he was doing to my head. I used pictures. I explained. He highlighted & cut. And I'd pay (plenty), leave, slink home, stand in front of the mirror, and think, well, it's still growing out and besides, there's always the next time. And the next time was invariably the same.
It all changed when I recently met someone with fine, straight hair just like my own, with the exact shaggy haircut I've been desiring. I asked for the name of her hairdresser and she happily obliged, saying "She'll make you feel like a Hot Mama!" Conveniently, she was located downtown, near where I work. I made an appointment (which in and of itself felt like a profound betrayal of my old hairdresser, but I quashed those feelings). I went. I explained. She wrinkled her brow, lifting clumps of my hair and saying, "There's a lot I need to correct." OUCH. But correct, she did. Expertly. Perfectly.
It is true; one's ego is often entirely wrapped up in one's hair. I know what I want; I know what I like. I do not have a hard time articulating things, not always. I have fine, unruly, cowlicky hair that needs a certain amount of coddling to look decent. She got that. She said, "I'm old enough to remember when shags were in the first time."
My former hairdresser was a mere sprout, somewhere in his 20's. He didn't truly know from the glory days of the Jane Fonda shag.
So all is now good. I've been liberated. And I've learned an important lesson: if you don't get what you want the first time from a hairdresser, chances are you won't get what you want the next time, or the next. Move on. Lots of people cut hair.
Rules for life. Rules for shags. Rules for my ongoing recovery.
And, yes, it's true. I finally feel, for all practical purposes, like one Hot Mama. :-)
3 comments:
Yey for being a Hot Mama! Maybe I need to go back to the salon life and step away from the $17 cut for awhile? Ugh. I like my hair but I know how it feels to get that fab cut, too.
Razor cuts, highlights, layers, "product," all of it. I am SO for the salon cut. Two things my very chic mother taught me about getting older: spend more money on accessories, and spend more money on your hair! You won't be sorry.
Amen to all of the above! I may have less and less hair with each passing year, but that means that I need a master craftsman to make a mountain out of a molehill. Nothing is more important than self-esteem, baby!
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