Today I went to a neighbourhood salon I hadn’t visited in years. I needed a haircut and was tired of the constant commentary I received at the place I have been going to. Of course, I was assaulted with the usual questions and comments:
How long ago did you get a haircut? [The polite way of saying, When was the last time you had this MESS cut?]
How much do you want taken off?
The ends are pretty dry. It will be at least this much. That okay?
Halfway through the cut today, she suggested I consider having my hair cut short. What is this fascination of hair stylists with short hair? Each and every one tells me I should think about getting a short haircut. Well, I’m 44 years old, which I think is old enough now to know what I want and don’t want, and I don’t want a short haircut, which is why I didn’t ask for one.
Today I had to explain why not. I’ve had short haircuts. I look hideous in short haircuts. Short haircuts are a great way to scream, “Look, this woman has an oval face, no neck, and no chin! Look! And a small head on a huge body! Look! There’s no hair to impair your view!” I told her this, in slightly different terms, and she looked at me disapprovingly, silently saying, “I don’t believe you. Everyone secretly desires to have a short, chic haircut, especially women with no chin and no neck. I belong to the secret ‘Women must have short hair’ society,’ and you are foiling our plans for world domination. And you’d look so cute in short hair.” Except I would look (and have looked) terrible in short hair. So — no short hair!
“I don’t really mean short hair; I mean, to here [indicating shoulder length].” And, ta da — she cut my hair to shoulder length, as it turns out. But apparently it’s not short enough to meet the society’s nefarious goals.
Then she asked me if I use “product.” I deduced she meant gel. Yes, I use gel to flatten the bangs that no one will cut short enough and that are forever in my way. “No, I mean on the rest of your hair.” “No. Why?” “Does your hair curl mostly or frizz? Product would help with the frizz.” “I don’t mind frizz.” “But you have such beautiful hair.” Apparently, frizz impairs its “beauty.” Too bad because, as I told her, I really don’t care if it frizzes. No, really. I don’t. Why is this so hard to believe? Do I look vain to you? And is there a gene that make frizz look hideous to the rest of the world? If so, why do so many women spend a gazillion dollars on permanents that look frizzy? So they can achieve what I have naturally. Frizz. Love it or look away. I don’t care.
We got into a discussion over curl, and when it became clear to her I just don’t get it, what she was asking me about how my hair curls, she sighed and said, “You don’t understand. I mean . . .” No, you don’t understand. I don’t care if my hair curls or frizzes. I simply want the split, dry ends cut off. That’s all. A cut. No commentary. No fluffing, drying, gelling, or primping. Just a haircut.
Anyone know a good barber? Maybe he can give me a shave, too.