For the first time in over 12 years, I've been the recipient of a hair cut I love. Not just LOVE, adore. Seriously people, if you could see it. Even with a few double chins and some excess flab around the cheekbones, I can't stop myself from checking it out in each and every mirror I walk by. And to think, it was pretty much a fluke thing. Here's what happened:
Rewind about 12 weeks ago or so. I walked into a salon, dying for a hair cut, anything really, to help with the shag that had become my head. I was seated in the first seat in the salon and did what I always do--told the lady I wanted a funky, choppy,
piecey hair cut. One that had some sass to it and was easy to pull together in morning rot with chaos. After much head shaking, smiling, and some questions about why my mornings are chaos (do you have kids?), we got started with the scissors. 20 minutes later, it she went a bit too short and I was not as happy as I could have been with a cut.
Seriously, if she'd kept it 1/2 inch longer I
might have been happier. But, I am ahead of myself. The cut was all right--not lovely, not ideal, and not even really great. But all right. I could GET BY with what she did to my hair.
Or so I thought. Bear with me Internets, I am sharing yet another secret: when I'm down in the dumps, feeling low, wishing I were 50 lbs lighter--I do one of two things (if not both)--go shopping and/or go and get my hair cut. That day? I had done the latter. (Funky, fun hair cut = drastically improved self esteem and mood). But Hair cut number 512 of the season was flat. As in too short and
spiky and GASP sort of manly on me (or at least that is what it felt like).
I tugged and pulled and yanked and waxed the hell out of the hair to make it do something fun. After washing it 15 times in the sink, blow drying it every possible way, using gel, mouse, hair products of every shelf in Target... I still was unsatisfied. And truthfully, devastated. It wasn't what I wanted. No matter what I tried. Did it give me bedhead? Sure, but in the awful way. And I was disliking the cut the more I messed with the hair. I was uneven and again, my triple chins were even MORE pronounced because those little fringes she was supposed to leave behind my ears? She'd chopped them.
Four weeks into the cut, I was finally able to breath again. The hair grew, I could style it enough to at least not make me cringe around mirrors. And I was feeling decent about my look. Enough to get the red out and keep a little copper in. But now another 8 weeks later... well, it was obvious, it was hair cut time again. Only problem is, I wanted something a bit different, and with my current Do, well, it's a bit difficult, because there wasn't a lot of hair to work with. "Growing it out" -- not an option. I had long hair until college, I've completely given up on it. FOREVER (the additional 5 inches I grew for my wedding was only to give my husband the hard on he deserved on wedding night. It was cut the first day back from the honeymoon. Shush. It was our agreement).
Anyway, to say that I was nervous about this impending hair cut would be an understatement. I'd spent 2 days searching online hair web sites to find this new look. To at least give a hair stylist a CLUE about this funky look I wanted (really it's not hard people, it's a razor cut. Or one that makes the hair flip. My hair's had years of practice). But nothing was right. And I was about to cry but so fed up...
I just called a salon and asked if they could take me TODAY. Any time today. I'd make my work schedule fit around it. Two hours later I was staring at myself in the mirror trying to figure this new cut out.
It looked very much like the old cut, but better. It has these
fringey things that framed my face. The bangs are sorta choppy and fun. I can pull and piece it out in a few different ways. And other than the poof that every damn stylist makes at the top of my head (easily tamed with a bit of hair wax stuff)--it looked pretty damn good. Even better after I got home and did my own wash and style of the thing (and by style, I mean let it dry because the baby awoke and I had to tend to her for over an hour and by then the hair had all out dried. But, like I said, I smeared some wax in my hands and began to pull and shape and twist... and what do you know. With NO blow dryer I could have thrown some make up on and walked out the door looking put together!). Who knew one hair cut could make me grin ear to ear?
It even looks good with my glasses. Natural even. I'm flattered. And honored. And a bit perplexed at how this happened. But count me happy. I now have the half improved, new me. With a short hair cut reminiscent of funky. And I almost feel that sass coming out too.
Labels: hair, life, me
