hair don’ts you say?

• By Alison
• 4 November, 2009
• Comments Off on hair don’ts you say?

Why is is that hairdressers suck at blow drying?

Now I love my hairdresser – I really do. She cuts a mean haircut, and it works for me just the way I want it to, but she makes me leave the salon looking like Mary Tyler Moore with short hair. No-one ever wants to look like Mary Tyler Moore. Well, maybe some people do. Mary Tyler Moore probably does. Actually, she probably wishes that she looked like Pink, although that’s absurd, since Pink predates MTM – but I bet she wished back then that she looked like the person who Pink would look like. Now. Perhaps.

I’ve never seen a hairdresser who doesn’t want to smooth and bouffant my hair after cutting it. Despite me explaining that I am a rough and ready type of hair do-er. And describing in detail how I hate it coming forward and I always push it back – so why do they insist on brushing and curling it into a smooth forward coming monstrosity that I have to dash home, wet, and restyle? Maybe they think that they can refine me. Although quite why it’s necessary to make me look like I just cleaned my own hair with my paw and left it that way is beyond me.

When I first met my current hairdresser, I had long long hair. It had been long for so long, that I’d stopped caring who gave it a trim, and just opted for the nearest junior to snip the dead ends off. But as I’d decided that the time had come to become a short haired beast again, I needed slightly more expertise. I used to have short hair, but it had been years since, so I took a manky photo of me, uploaded it to a “style” website and proceeded to try on a myriad of weird and wonderful “do’s”. I narrowed down the shortlist and printed out my final desired cut. Then I made an appointment with the most senior cutter that I could, at a new salon (new to me, not new to the neighbourhood).

I turned up with no expectations in particular, and had them shattered quite spectacularly. My new hairdresser – the person who was going to make one of the most drastic cuts this year – was sporting a straggly bleached blonde do which looked like it had been done in the dark. Not in a trendy way either. I was slightly shellshocked. She needed a wide load sign across her rear, and still thought it was a good idea to wear leggings.

I showed her my mug short, gurning back from the printout under the weight of 12 different hairdo’s. I explained how I wanted a haircut that would achieve hairdo number 67. AND number 45, and number 49, which I figured should all be theoretically possible from the same base. I was gripping the revolving chair for grim death by the time she started cutting.

And what a triumph. What a fantastic job she did. I have gone from really long to short only 3 times in my life, the first time I left the salon crying my eyes out, and the second time I felt distinctly let down, but was dry eyed. This time I was amazed and delighted. They even switched out the evil downlit mirrors that make me look like the Churchill dog for ones that made me look quite nice!

So I’ve gone back to her for each subsequent trim. For the first time in about 6 years I have a hairdresser that I want to stick to. Even though from visit number 2 onwards she fell back into the Mary Tyler Moore school of blow drying. It’s like a disease with them.

My biggest fear – as she was cutting today – was that she might find a small critter in there. I could just imagine the withering humiliation if she suddenly stepped back holding her hands in front of her staring in horror as if her fingers had just grown hair and uttering the despised word “NITS!” But I’d just been informed that morning that the child my daughter had played with and had tea with the night before might have a guest lodger in her locks. Which means that if one decided to move interstate and took up residence on Miss Comic Relief, she might just have referred them on to me for a short break. Just hearing the news made me scratch like crazy. And now talking about it again has my scalp itching too! But luckily no such fiasco happened whilst in the chair.

We’re flying out to Sydney in a few weeks, so I probably won’t get back to her within a six week period. So I decided that I should get it cut extra short so as to last the distance. I am pretty sure that what I am sporting right now could loosely be termed “the lesbian cut”. It’s a style I’ve had before. The haircut that is, not the lifestyle. Although there was this one time of experimentation that probably existed only in my mind. Probably not suitable for this blog though. Ahem. Just imagine short and boyish and that will do you. Now excuse me while I go scratch!