2 weeks ago or slightly more this was me:
Not terrible or anything, but starting to grow out of what would be recognizable as a "style" that was deliberate. So I went to "my guy" who has been the person I saw for the last 2 cuts and who I have had good results with going in and saying, "yo I don't like this and this, can you help me?" and then he asks a few more questions and I put myself in his hands.
Well..I went back for that deal this time and I swear it was like opposite day. We chatted about what wasn't working, I said I wanted him to add layers and keep the length, he asked a couple clarifying questions that gave me the sense he knew what I meant, and then..... he took the length and kept the general flatness. This was the cut. Mind you, not terrible in principle or anything but SO NOT ME.
Every time I looked in a mirror this sober responsible adult in her 40s looked back at me, this woman who wanted nothing more than for the wind to stop mussing up her hair, so she would look good for the other moms at the kid's soccer performance or professional at the board meeting. AND at the same time the cut gave me mental flashback to my 1st grade bob- a style so reprehensible the very first fashion decision I made aside from first demanding, then rejecting pink clothes was that I be allowed to grow out my hair. It would be many more years before I learned to brush my hair, and stopped wearing oversized t-shirts with stonewashed cut-offs and a lovely sandal sock combination, but I'm comforted by the knowledge that between the long obscuring hair and huge glasses, no one can really see the facial features in those old pictures anyway. Since then I've had definite opinions when it comes to my hair- and I tend to get a new style every 6-8 months.
So after a week and a half of trying to suck it up, when I came home last night and saw my hair was a perfect triangular mass framing the deadened expression of a death row inmate, I decided it was time to go for it.
I went to another salon and the tiniest woman with the BIGGEST hair I've ever seen- sort of like this glorious zeppelin had landed on her head, a kind of curled in mohawk, took me in wing. She was rocking the most unique hair, in that way that only truly awesome people do, where the style is just this part of their soul and it looks completely comfortable on her, even though NO ONE ELSE IN THE WORLD WEARS THEIR HAIR LIKE THAT you wouldn't look twice at it because it was weird, you'd look twice because it was so beautiful.
I brought in a carefully selected photo gallery of every star's hair I could find that looked cool the way I wanted, with my handwritten thoughts at the bottom, reading, "messy, nerdy, cool, fun, don't like triangle hair! Don't like NEAT!" I said it I felt the cut made me look old and she asked how old I was and gasped when I said 25 (
She also found my white hairs..the ones I call my "[oldboss name] hairs" because the half a year I worked for her was when they all showed up- right in the exact spot at the top of my head that used to throb in pain when she was evil). My stylist agreed the cut wasn't giving me any youth, and because she had this glorious hair I knew she'd get it when I said that having a grown up job was bad enough for my irresponsible personality, so everytime I saw this cut over my button down shirts on a monday morning I just died a little more.
She left my pseudo-bangs for last and then she checked with me, and said, "so what about these side bangs? Can I give you more across the face bangs? " I tell you right now guys, my number one mantra has been "NO BANGS" like for years. Its like my version of the "Pretty Woman" no kissing deal. I'll do ANYTHING, but bangs. Bangs are not cool with me. I'm a bang vegan. Heh, now that word is making me laugh. But in her hands, in the hands of this woman with the hair that would have made the aristocrats in the french court swoon, how could I be so timid as to say no?
And so this is me now!!!! (Drumroll)
I am super happy. I stopped trying to talk about my secret dream hair (you know that style you think would be good but is so out there that you fear someone would laugh?) several years ago. That is because that I nourished this secret desire to have "floofy" short hair, like a baby chicken would have but I realized that no one else got the same impression of what I meant when I said that. BUT SHE KNEW. She looked at my face, heard my words and instinctively understood the secret floofy chick look my soul wanted. I couldn't articulate it, but her scissors just knew. I am happy. My hair is nuts, unstructured and totally cool.
Rock on my friends, rock on!
This part doesn't fit anywhere but it's tangentally related. My bad haircut guy who was first a good haircut guy was an upgrade from my bossy K-town lady, with whom I had sliiiiight communication difficulties resulting primarily from my lack of knowing Korean. This allowed her to pretend she didn't really understand my tentative English attempts to have any control over the process. So I would go in and say, "blah blah this is what I like, is that a good thing to do? " and she would say, "okay, yes, I make shorter. Sit now? Good." It never turned out super badly, but it was clear, I was never going to call the shots, and the style was going to be the house special. Korean ladies "of a certain age" seriously intimidate the crap out of me. Its hard to explain but they project some kind of special demigod aura; like a cross between a hard core Catholic School Nun who will take you down with a ruler if necessary, and this hardworking provider, this essence of absolute authority you don't want to let down. Its this feeling that your opinions are irrelevant and take time away from the serious business of making sure you are properly taken care of, because that's what they do. Its hard to explain, but my friends who have dealings with middle-age and older Korean ladies have nodded knowingly when I try to articulate it. Actually I'm pretty sure it's why this neighborhood is so safe because packs of these ladies briskly roam the streets in the morning and evening, wearing sun visors and sensible sneakers, and carrying water bottles, which I imagine they bring just in case they need to discourage teens making-out or nourish a lost and thirsty child. But I digress.
