I love getting my hair cut and styled. From the relaxing head massage to the blow dry I can never recreate at home, it’s all good. I sometimes find the need to chat a bit uncomfortable at times as I generally like to slip into a small coma and enjoy the pampering but I can cope which that. The problem I have is trust.
My hairdressing history is full of mistakes and woeful decisions. As a child I begged and begged for a fringe having bored of my Sindy doll look. Mum caved in after weeks and gave me a blunt fringe. It was great… for about 2 weeks. After that it became a bore, my hair is naturally wavy and the fringe would stick up at all angles in the morning plus it made my forehead itchy and started to get in my eyes. I grew it out and vowed never again.
I resorted to having a simple hairstyle as a teenager, long just below the shoulders. Until I watched the X-Files and became obsessed with having a Dana Scullyesque ‘do. Whatever was I thinking! This took several years to grow out and by the time I went to Uni my hair was long and glossy again. Added to the list of no no’s, bobs.
I tried several different hairdressers until a friend of mine said I should visit the salon she worked at. Bonus, not only do I get on well with her I would also get friends discount. More fool me.
Now remember I mentioned a list of no no’s? Have a guess at what happened. Ladies and gentlemen I give you the bob complete with micro fringe. Oh yes. Not one but both of the things I detest. Now I hold my hands up. I did actually ask for the bob, Pulp Fiction was still very trendy and all the coolest women were styling their hair in sleek shiny bobs. Why not I thought. Everything was going swimmingly until she reached for her razor. Combing a section of hair forward for what I had thought would be some gentle thinning out turned out to be the fringe. The MICRO fringe. “You’d look good with a fringe” She said and swoosh there went my hair.
And this happened… just in time for New Year’s eve. I had a great day evening planned and now I had to work out some way of hiding this utter disgrace that was my hair.
So this set the scene for years of distrust in hairdressers. I was very fortunate when I found one who was my hair’s best friend for a few years. He was a nice guy, chatted like he meant it and always left me feeling well pampered with lovely locks.
Then I moved across the country, too far for a quick visit and the hunt began again. These were my darkest days. A succession of bad choices and awful recommendations saw me having my haircut by a girl who left a massive chunk uncut and dangling at the back, an Italian who spoke no English and gave me the biggest hair I’d ever seen since Dallas. Every time I thought I’d found one I could trust they left the country, got pregnant or changed careers. I felt doomed. I moved back home and tried a major chain. Strangely the fact that I was back on home turf seemed to work for me. They understood what I wanted and delivered. I’d only gone and done it! A year of perfect haircuts and massaging chairs and hair treatments left me spoilt. How could this ever end. One answer. I changed jobs. I had to move. Again.
Loath to give up my hairdresser I arranged haircuts every time I went home to see my folks. Perfect. My hair style isn’t high maintenance so I could handle not having it trimmed for 10 weeks or so.
Unfortunately now I have to take the plunge. This afternoon I venture into a new hairdressing salon and put my hair and trust into another’s hands. If this goes well then I no longer have to make a 2 hour journey to get my hair in shape. I hope to end my spate of one off visits that ends with me growing out too short layers for months on end only for it to happen all over again.
Wish me luck…