Story Weekend: Hairdressers
I’m sitting in Starbucks, waiting for my hair appointment, so hairdressers seem like a good Story Weekend topic for today. Those of you who’ve read my blog for a while may remember when I came out last year as a faux-hair wearer, and you may wonder why I still need a hairdresser. The answer is twofold. First, I still have hair that I sometimes wear around the house or at the beach and I’m not ready to let the gray take over. Second, I would miss my hairdresser. I’ve gone to her for nearly eight years. She’s half my age, bright, ambitious, entrepreneurial, a great mom and amazing with color. I love chatting with her and I bet her other clients do as well.
So, I just realized I’m disobeying my own story weekend rules by not making this into a story. I hope you’ll do better with yours!
If you’re new to Story Weekend, here’s how it works: I pick a theme and you share something from your life that relates to that theme, however you interpret it. Thanks to all of you who’ve been contributing. As always, there are a few “rules”:
▪ The story must be true
▪ Try to keep it under 100 words. Embrace the challenge! That’s about six or seven lines in the comment form. I want others to read your story, and most people tend to skip if it’s too long. I know how tough it is to “write tight” but I hope you’ll accept this as a challenge. Happy writing!
I’d been frequenting “walk in” places for years with a variety of (bad) results but I really liked the way my friend’s hair was cut and made an appointment with Theresa Jr. right here in town. When I walked into the salon on Main St. it was as if I had disapperated back into my childhood. The building itself is straight out of the 1890’s when it was built, but the furnishings were from some beauty parlor of my 1950s youth. The metal and leather chairs had seen better times and the walls were covered in Elvis posters. “Love Me Tender” played in the background. I got the best haircut of my life.
Nervously, I sat in the hairdresser’s chair waiting to be “processed”… This wasn’t MY hairdresser, she had just had a baby, this was someone else’s hairdresser. As I was being “blown out,” I noticed a shadow on my forehead… only it wasn’t a shadow, it was hair dye. No one in the salon could figure out how to remove it. She told me the only way to remove it was to rub ashes into my head. I said, “Where am I going to get ashes?” She said, “I’ll be right back.” She came back with ashes from the cigarette. Two stylists were rubbing the ashes into my forehead-gross! Even worse, it didn’t really work!
I have two daughters who became beauticians, so all I do is make hairdresser jokes. You can find them on my “Quotes and Things” blog. Just click on my name, i think that will take you to them.
Diane,
I love this topic because I started to go to Brenda at John Edwards in Vienna VA over 30 years ago. She cut my hair and gave my kids their first haircuts. iI followed her to McLean VA, Georetown DC and several places in Alexandria VA. After I moved to NC I came to VA every 6 to 8 weeks for a haircut when visiting my daughter. Brenda and I had over a 25 year relationship. There was some kind of legal problem with her last salon and I lost contact. So I asked my exercise instructor in NC who did her hair. So I now go to Beka (who is 25) in Cary.
So my mom is like, on the cusp of 40 with 4 small kids and looking to shake up her life. She goes to the hairdresser a brunette and comes home a blonde because we have been force fed the fact that Blondes have more fun right? Well my dad freaked. Where was his dark haired Molly? She stood her ground though the pebbles of peace shuffled beneath her feet. She argued her case for her need for change to deaf ears. My dad was having none of it&on the same day she walked world weary back to the same hairdresser and dyed her hair back to the brownness that made my dad feel safe and at peace in his own home. It was after all a man’s world back then and keeping the peace is what we women do when we don’t know what else to do. I swore on that day that no man would make those decisions for me. My dad loved her as ‘He saw her in his own heart’. but really, doesn’t the bible say ‘ To thine own self be true?’ Trying to be true to yourself is a constant struggle of soul versus peace that all women know all to well. As for me, it’s a take me as I am kind of mantra. I am All about the lesson that life teaches us.
The hair on my head grows slower than a two legged turtle. With a few nips here, a little trim there my hair style is basically the same the last 20 years. As seasons change or about twice a year I visit the salon for highlights and a shape up. Summer adds brighter, lighter, fall adds earthy tones. Just a few short months ago I decided to try my daughter’s salon where I met Carissa. Young, vibrant, hip. A trip to the salon for me stirs memories of bad haircuts too many. I try to be as clear as I can to Carissa explaining what I want to achieve along pictures on my iPad. We finally get to the finished result. It only took 40 years and I think I’ve finally found the stylist of my dreams. Best haircut ever, gorgeous color. Fast forward to the present specifically this past Friday. Carissa is backed up, I’m processed in between clients. I tell Carissa “we are doing the same as last time just lighter”. “Yes, yes” she agrees. I ask “are you able to tell how you cut my hair last time by looking at it now?” “Oh yeah”, exclaims Carissa, “I remember exactly what I did”. She applies clarifier to my hair, I sit, wait. Highlight and color hair, sit, wait for the magic to occur. Rinse, shampoo, sit. She has another client to cut. Yeah! it’s my turn. Into the chair I go. Turn me to the side away from the mirror, her normal cutting position. A plethora of feelings are running rampant in my head. I quickly calm them knowing my last session with Carissa went smashingly well! Finally she swings me around to the mirror. I’m not sure what I’m seeing. A wave of dread pours through my body from head to toe, oh no, it seems so short. She sees my face and says “don’t panic, I’m not done” and proceeds to grab certain sections of hair between her fingers, twists them tightly and then runs a scissor up and down this stem of hair. Oh boy is all I can think. The dread is still ever present but lessened. She begins blow dying, just a little here and there. A fluff with the fingers, a spray here, a spray there. “Okay, all done, what do you think? Are you okay?”. I say “I, I don’t know yet”, in a squeamish tone. “I think I need to dry it myself”, as I always do after a salon visit. “I think it’s okay, it seems really, really short.” Carissa adds, “I didn’t cut the length, just a dusting of the ends, see it’s still long”, as she lifts the back of my hair. I’m not feeling “it” at all. I’m feeling fearful, unhappy. I just want to get out of here. I go to pay. She presents the receipt atop the cashiers desk. Wow, the cost is forty dollars more than last time. I’m puzzled, I thought everything was the same as last time. I add a ten dollar tip, say goodbye and out I go. I return home still not sure. I brush and fluff and tease and spray. I guess it’s okay. I’m trying hard to like it. By the next day I’m so unhappy. My hair looks terrible. It’s cut so much and so much shorter. The sides are uneven. I can’t even gather it all into a pony tail. As the day goes on I become madder and angrier. I get to the point that I am still at today. It’s now Sunday and I really want to call the salon and tell Carissa how very unhappy I am. Then I think as I have all weekend., “what good will it do?” “She can’t replace my hair”. There’s nothing I can do about it. Yet I still feel the need to tell her. The worst parts of it all is that I explained to Carissa “my hair is ever so slow growing.” That “it’s taken me three years to get it this long, the longest its ever been”. “I like to be able to put my hair up in a clip or a ponytail.” “We spend a lot of time boating and at the beach and a ponytail just works.” This is such a terrible feeling. I am trying to just accept it all but still find myself so unhappy, so disappointed, so angry. And life goes on…….. What will be, will be.
Lisa you REALLY broke the 100 word rule, but I’ll let it stand because it was so well written and so relatable. We’ve all been there. I hope you come to love the cut.
For many many years we went to a family friend to all get our hair done – when my oldest daughter decided in her Junior year of High school that she wanted to attend vocational school and be just like Jodi a hairdresser !! Good decision – no problem on my part -decided that that was the BEST $ 1,000.00 I have ever spent in my entire life !! She now owns her own salon & the very best part is I take her a cappuccino every morning – she does my hair and off to work I go !!!!
At 23 somehow I didn’t know better than to bleach my hair just a few days after a perm. I was at least 14 months pregnant and had British Royal green hair. Not a particularly attractive look for me.
I have had thick healthy hair all my life and sometimes complained about the time it takes to wash and dry. My hairdresser used to joke it was the equivalent of two haircuts to cut mine. She even permed it in the 80s as we were laughing about a few weks ago. However I have started chemotherapy treatment after having a breast lump removed and now my hair is starting to fall out despite using a cold cap during treatment I don’t know if I will lose all of it but I already have bald patches and a lot has fallen out already. I am trying not to be upset because I am cancer free and this treatment means I will hopefully prevent any problems in future but it has such a big emotional effect. I know it will grow back but it will be many months before it wiil be anything like it was before. I have a wig which I think looks like “me” so I will try not to be upset over shampoo ads and silly things like that, and look forward to the day I can go back to the hairdressers.
Heather, I’m sorry for what you’re going through. You have a great attitude, and as a wig wearer myself, I feel confident you’ll do great with that aspect of your recovery. Take care.