There always seems to be some sort of selective hearing going on at salons. My only real successful haircut was at Pyara in Harvard Square September of 2010--the guys was tattooed, pierced, and super sweet. He took one look at me and said, "I bet you're a grad student." I smile, and nod. "You look like a girl who likes her hair just the way it is, am I right?" He was. I'm a boring hair person. I take the time to keep it healthy, but I am absolutely all thumbs when it comes to doing anything pretty or fun with it. Groupon and the upcoming gala reminded me that I should get my hair cut, and so I did. Well, that idea was for chumps. The vast majority of stylists (okay, n= total minus the one awesome guy at Pyara) ---they just don't listen. At all.
What I say: Four inches off at the most; even though it's been awhile since my last haircut, I take good care of my hair, so there aren't too many split ends.
What she heard: Oh, she must not be serious! Longer hair just make her look so old and dowdy; I'll cut it shorter.
What actually happens: 6-8 inches, gone.
What I say: I wear my hair back every day for my job in a lab, so no layers, please. (to her question of layering, each of the four times she asked)
What she heard: She would love layers, she's just afraid to ask! And look, she took her glasses off and she's not half bad looking! She just doesn't feel ready for layers, but they'll look so fantastic on her! I will transform this geeky sad scientist into a bombshell!
What actually happens: layers. I look like I have an electron cloud around my head: a halo of frizz.
And then of course, she puts this crap in my hair that yes, makes it look all shiny, but also makes it feel super thin and awkward, not to mention it smells like chemicals. I'm pretty sensitive to the smell of colognes and perfumes and chemicals in general, they just overwhelm me completely. Every once in a while I would turn my head quickly and get a whiff of something strong and nasty, and be angry for about three seconds before realizing, oh it's me! And then feel like I needed to wash my hair in the bathroom sink just so it didn't smell anymore.
So hair stylists, here's the deal: I am not your Barbie doll. I am paying you to cut my hair, not to make decisions on what you think I need and what you think I should want. Unless you want to come to my apartment every single morning for the next year and do my hair from me, don't sneakily legislate your views on what my hair should be or what you want it to look like...cause frankly, I don't care. If I wanted your opinion or trusted your judgment, I would tell you so.
In other news, I set a personal record today at the Red Cross blood drive: one pint of blood, 4 minutes and ten seconds. That along with a blood pressure of 96/58 and a hemoglobin of 13.4, wow, I feel ready for action. The dress is done, I'm almost packed---DC, I'll see you tomorrow!
(one last photo of Boston before I go)