does the feeling of being ten pounds lighter translate 1-for-1 to the scale, or is that just wishful thinking?
in the past five years, i've only had my hair styled by professionals twice. you could term it a major judgment call in consideration of my wallet. given the industry recommendation of having it cut every eight weeks, at a cost of anywhere from $15 to $50 (a lot more, especially if i was to go back to my favorite place ever; as much as i adore it, Cowlicks Japan is murder on my bank account), here's the blow by blow[out]:
of course, the greater determining factor in my decision to hack my own hair is the psychological trauma i suffered years ago. it still haunts me, that black sunday in march 2008. layers. that was all i wanted. is that so avaricious? am i really so horrid an individual to have deserved this type of aesthetic damnation? i ended saturday with a reasonably nice 'do, one that bobbed & bounced as i walked, held as it was with a light sheen of hairspray. but i should have known. obvious shampoo & conditioner aside, i don't use product. i hate it. everything gets sticky or slick, & either because my hair is so fine or i have so much of it or all of the above, the style never lasts the length of time i need it to. i've always found that an excellent cut alone will shape everything & let my look stand on its own merit, without me having to put all that toxic garbage in my hair.
*i don't use dye either, for which a certain female relative is willing to kill me, as i'm many years older than she & have no visible greys to speak of. such is not her case. love her. but i digress.
anyway, i rose the next morning, that fateful sunday, & showered per normal. washed the hair. towel-dried it. because i despise the blow-dryer as almost as much as i do product (i simply prefer to avoid the wretched smell of burnt follicles as much as i can), i allowed the hair to air dry. it was only in the afternoon, during a visit to the gym, that the horror was fully manifest. i stopped before a mirror & saw it; i had a mushroom helmet. i tried to pull it back into a ponytail, but my efforts were to no avail. the top portion was too short & kept falling out of the tie. the situation only worsened when my trainer popped up behind me.
"got your haircut, did you?"
not a gentle "hey, what's up," purposefully ignoring the disaster , nor a comforting "oh, that looks nice," obvious lie though it may be, nor even a vocal admission that "i'm going to pretend that i don't see that abomination that is your hair, because i value you as a person & don't want to shatter your soul before all who are gathered in this gym that doubles as a meat market." nope. my modern adonis, with whom things were quickly becoming complicated (see any number of my posts wherein i regale readers with stories of my record in romance), made the most innocuous yet simultaneously devastating remark ever in human history.
It. Was. A Nightmare.
poor man. he was clueless & concerned when i rushed home just after he spoke. scissors in hand, i destroyed my hair so that i could save it. within minutes, it went from repulsive, ear-to-shoulder-length atrocity to clean, edgy bob. upon seeing me the next day, my students nearly passed out because LADY TEACHERS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO DRASTICALLY CHANGE THEIR HAIR EVER OH MY GOD THIS WILL CAUSE SOCIAL UPHEAVAL THE LIKES THE WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN & THE UNIVERSE WILL EXPLODE OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD HOW COULD YOUUUUUUUUUUU...
really.
after ten minutes, they calmed down, & the compliments started rolling in. "nice hair, ms. b." "super cute, miss beatty!" "you did that yourself?" "do you think my mom would kill me if i did that? i bet she would. ima try it." [inner-teacher-panic ensues.]
five years later & $480-1600 spent on many somethings else, i have no regrets. no, i'm not hitting a third-life crisis. i'm not suddenly insecure about my own self-worth because life isn't going as i'd planned. & i'm not enduring an excruciating break-up after which i want to eviscerate anyone who says, "it just wasn't meant to be, don't worry because the One is still out there, you won't be single forever, he's an idiot & it's his loss." [FYI--don't say these things. they're patronizing, & they make everything worse because you aren't really hearing the pain that the dump-ee feels. just shut up & let him/her cry on your shoulder. or, take him/her shoe shopping, your treat. whichever.]
want to know what it is? sometimes, something just has to change. like, i'm sick & tired of rolling over in my sleep & being wakened because my hair gets stuck under my back, & it jerks my head when i try to move. or, i'd like to enjoy the look of letting my tresses down but can't because it's august, & the humidity is draining my body of its life force, & that much hair is so heavy & gets sweaty, & i'm already at increased medical risk of overheating (see any posts on my meds; really, sometimes, they suck. a lot.). it could also be me wondering, "what would happen if..."
& frankly, the difference just feels good. this post has taken forever to compose because i've been incessantly running my fingers through my very clean, minus-four-inches 'do. it's soft, it's light, it's simple. actually, i retract my earlier words; it doesn't feel good. it feels fantastic. & it feels obvious--sometimes, scissors, & change, are a girl's best friend.
in the past five years, i've only had my hair styled by professionals twice. you could term it a major judgment call in consideration of my wallet. given the industry recommendation of having it cut every eight weeks, at a cost of anywhere from $15 to $50 (a lot more, especially if i was to go back to my favorite place ever; as much as i adore it, Cowlicks Japan is murder on my bank account), here's the blow by blow[out]:
- over five years, that's 32.5 times i'd be consulting my coiffeuse. just to be nice, round down to 32.
- separately multiple by 15 and 50 to get the costs.
- end up with a damage range between $480 and $1600.
of course, the greater determining factor in my decision to hack my own hair is the psychological trauma i suffered years ago. it still haunts me, that black sunday in march 2008. layers. that was all i wanted. is that so avaricious? am i really so horrid an individual to have deserved this type of aesthetic damnation? i ended saturday with a reasonably nice 'do, one that bobbed & bounced as i walked, held as it was with a light sheen of hairspray. but i should have known. obvious shampoo & conditioner aside, i don't use product. i hate it. everything gets sticky or slick, & either because my hair is so fine or i have so much of it or all of the above, the style never lasts the length of time i need it to. i've always found that an excellent cut alone will shape everything & let my look stand on its own merit, without me having to put all that toxic garbage in my hair.
*i don't use dye either, for which a certain female relative is willing to kill me, as i'm many years older than she & have no visible greys to speak of. such is not her case. love her. but i digress.
anyway, i rose the next morning, that fateful sunday, & showered per normal. washed the hair. towel-dried it. because i despise the blow-dryer as almost as much as i do product (i simply prefer to avoid the wretched smell of burnt follicles as much as i can), i allowed the hair to air dry. it was only in the afternoon, during a visit to the gym, that the horror was fully manifest. i stopped before a mirror & saw it; i had a mushroom helmet. i tried to pull it back into a ponytail, but my efforts were to no avail. the top portion was too short & kept falling out of the tie. the situation only worsened when my trainer popped up behind me.
"got your haircut, did you?"
not a gentle "hey, what's up," purposefully ignoring the disaster , nor a comforting "oh, that looks nice," obvious lie though it may be, nor even a vocal admission that "i'm going to pretend that i don't see that abomination that is your hair, because i value you as a person & don't want to shatter your soul before all who are gathered in this gym that doubles as a meat market." nope. my modern adonis, with whom things were quickly becoming complicated (see any number of my posts wherein i regale readers with stories of my record in romance), made the most innocuous yet simultaneously devastating remark ever in human history.
It. Was. A Nightmare.
poor man. he was clueless & concerned when i rushed home just after he spoke. scissors in hand, i destroyed my hair so that i could save it. within minutes, it went from repulsive, ear-to-shoulder-length atrocity to clean, edgy bob. upon seeing me the next day, my students nearly passed out because LADY TEACHERS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO DRASTICALLY CHANGE THEIR HAIR EVER OH MY GOD THIS WILL CAUSE SOCIAL UPHEAVAL THE LIKES THE WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN & THE UNIVERSE WILL EXPLODE OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD HOW COULD YOUUUUUUUUUUU...
really.
after ten minutes, they calmed down, & the compliments started rolling in. "nice hair, ms. b." "super cute, miss beatty!" "you did that yourself?" "do you think my mom would kill me if i did that? i bet she would. ima try it." [inner-teacher-panic ensues.]
five years later & $480-1600 spent on many somethings else, i have no regrets. no, i'm not hitting a third-life crisis. i'm not suddenly insecure about my own self-worth because life isn't going as i'd planned. & i'm not enduring an excruciating break-up after which i want to eviscerate anyone who says, "it just wasn't meant to be, don't worry because the One is still out there, you won't be single forever, he's an idiot & it's his loss." [FYI--don't say these things. they're patronizing, & they make everything worse because you aren't really hearing the pain that the dump-ee feels. just shut up & let him/her cry on your shoulder. or, take him/her shoe shopping, your treat. whichever.]
want to know what it is? sometimes, something just has to change. like, i'm sick & tired of rolling over in my sleep & being wakened because my hair gets stuck under my back, & it jerks my head when i try to move. or, i'd like to enjoy the look of letting my tresses down but can't because it's august, & the humidity is draining my body of its life force, & that much hair is so heavy & gets sweaty, & i'm already at increased medical risk of overheating (see any posts on my meds; really, sometimes, they suck. a lot.). it could also be me wondering, "what would happen if..."
& frankly, the difference just feels good. this post has taken forever to compose because i've been incessantly running my fingers through my very clean, minus-four-inches 'do. it's soft, it's light, it's simple. actually, i retract my earlier words; it doesn't feel good. it feels fantastic. & it feels obvious--sometimes, scissors, & change, are a girl's best friend.
No comments:
Post a Comment