The holidays are a stressful time for everybody. People eat horribly, drive horribly and just have general lapses in judgment. Wear that holiday sweater? Why not? Make out with the annoying co-worker at the Christmas party? What’s the harm? Attach sparklers to your eyeglasses and light them at midnight on New Year’s Eve? Who’s gonna stop you? Get your hair cut into a mullet-Rick-James-Jheri-Curl hybrid? Meh, maybe we should think twice about that one.
But think twice I did not.
It all started innocently enough, much like all horrible ideas. It was December 23rd and my hair was a mess. I hadn’t had a haircut in 10 months and it was long (think mid-back or so) and unruly (think Midwest-1986 or so). I was out running errands and stopped into Starbucks for a latte. I asked the barista if she knew of any salons in the area that might accept a walk-in for a trim. What luck! Not only did she know of the place but it was two doors down and she had given up her beloved hairdresser of 10 years for their $15 cuts. Go!, she said. You won’t regret it!, she said.
Well, the bitch lied. I regret it like I regret the evening in 1994 when I saw Reality Bites and decided to give myself the short-bangs-long-hair look. Except that I have a cowlick and the bangs just got more and more uneven and I just kept cutting more and more and before I knew it, I had left Reality Bites in the dust and headed straight for the scene from Pink Floyd: The Wall where Bob Geldof is cutting and shaving and shaving and cutting. Not cute. Not pretty.
I walked into the hair place, got onto the list and then sat down to wait my turn. I was the only woman in the waiting area (RED FLAG! RUN!). When my name was called I asked the girl for a trim. I said that I wanted 2-inches off and that I wanted the layers to remain long. She cut the two inches and then a couple inches more and then another inch for good measure and then she took out a razor and started hacking away at my hair as though it were an intruder who had startled her while she was in the midst of a huge crafting project. While I am normally fairly assertive in my life, something about the salon chair makes me clam up. Is it the backwards, nylon Zorro cape? Is it the florescent lighting? Is it the person with the sharp instrument mere inches from my throat? Who knows. What I do know is that my hair is wavy and, in some parts, curly. As I continued my errands and the hair dried (What, you think they include a blow-dry in a $15 cut?) the true nature of the hack job was revealed. Curly ball of poof with a pin-straight rat tail in the back. Upon returning home, I said to my husband, “Basically I have a curly mullet.” His reply? “(long pause) Well, I like mullets.” Husband Fail Alert.
So let this be a lesson to you. If you are walking into a salon with the attitude of How Bad Can They Fuck It Up?, keep on walking. Run if you must. Grab a pair of shears, wave them around menacingly and back out slowly if that is what it takes. But don’t sit down and don’t let them snip even one hair. For now I am wearing hats but this can’t last for long. What will I do when winter turns to spring? What then? Dear God, what then?!
ugh….can’t tell you how many times I have been frozen in a salon chair and can’t seem to say ANYTHING. Mouth sealed shut as my brain is screaming “HELP!”
Yup…can totally relate to the nightmare!!!
What is up with this phenomenon?! Who cares if we offend? It’s our effing HAIR!
i am one week into my “fixer” haircut. I was a couple of inches from a Kate + 8 haircut – and we aren’t talking POST John extensions hair. I was a bobby pinning fool for about 6 weeks while i tried to hide the bilevel “which team are you playing for?” mess of bangs i had. Now i look a little less kate, a little more boy, and am starting the looong grow out…
i also have wavy/curly hair and the original stylist came at me with a razor, too!! these do NOT work on our hair, yet i sat silently as well, letting her attack me with it.
why is hair such a big deal?!?!?!
Oh, Marne! The image of this is too much for me to bear! Kate + Eight!! Ha!!
Oh no! What is it about sitting in the salon chair that paralyzes us from saying one word about the horrible hack job the “stylist” is inflicting upon our heads and the world? And why is it there seem to be so many of these “stylists” available to us in our darkest hours of trimming needs? Hmmm. At least it is the season to be wearing hats. 😉
I sense a New Year’s Resolution coming on… 🙂
Well I’ll tell you, I’ve had me some aweful hack job in my time (the worst being the tight permed mushroom cut…think Side Show Bob). I decided that I wasn’t paying someone to make me look horrible any more and for the last 2 years I’ve been cutting my own hair. I’m not saying that I’m a magician with my hair (how can you be when you can only see half of what you are doing?) but I do a hell of alot better than many of the stylists I’ve had. And if I decided I dont like it, at least it is my fault.
The only problem is when I get antsy and decide to do something different…3 days before my brothers wedding…I was a bridesmaid. But even then, I did my hair in a way that no one could tell. 😉
I was just reminiscing about my perm that was soooo bad that I went back a couple of weeks later and paid to have it relaxed. Horrible!!
oh no im so sorry you got stuck with a crappy haircut 😦
Thanks, Jenny! I need the sympathy! It’s that bad… 🙂
I’m so sorry! Bad haircuts are THE WORST. I don’t know why hair matters so much but a having a bad cut is….well I don’t have words.
I have a serious hair cut phobia. I will only go to one stylist, who I’ve been going to for a million years. No one else will ever touch my hair. Recently, he gave me a bad cut and I was miserable for about a month and a half. With another quick trim halfway through, it’s finally grown out enough that I can live with it. I’m almost at the point of needing another cut, but I’m scared.
My advice…bobby pins and rubber bands. Buns will be your friend for the next several weeks.
Good luck!