Like many women, I have a relationship with my hairdresser. Maybe it's just a relationship in my own mind, but I truly grow attached to them. I think that's normal with the level of trust I place in them. I know, it's just hair, but it's important in the grand scheme of things, especially if I want to leave the house during daylight hours.
First there was Abby who lived and worked in a big, pink Victorian house. Her hair was a frizzled, damaged mass of platinum blonde that stood out at all angles. Her kids and various ex-husbands ran in and out of the pink house, and it wasn't unusual for her to smoke and/or dye her own hair while cutting mine. Despite all of this, my hair never looked better. During those few years I took risks, I cut pictures out of magazines, and I tried cuts shorter than ever. The woman did great hair, but the crazy drove me out of there.
Next was Pete. He was flamboyant and had just won a huge transvestite contest when I started to see him. He was lots of fun in the bitchy, catty, hilarious way that draws me to gay men. My hair looked okay during that time. He never wrote my colors down, so I got something new each time. The last time I saw him he was completely sober and told me and another customer that the book "Flowers in the Attic" was based on him and his siblings. I was absolutely speechless. Again, crazy won and I was out of there.
Then came Barbara. Exceedingly normal and I didn't get the feeling that she talked about me as soon as I left. What I liked most about her was her obvious disdain for the human race. She treated me fine, but I could pick up on it in a kind of "takes one to know one" way. I grew attached to her. I felt like I knew her family, and she even did my hair for my wedding. It felt great to sit in her chair with the knowledge that she would cut and color my hair properly with minimal drama. In two years I followed her around to four different shops in my neighborhood. I thought this was weird, but chalked it up to her low tolerance of others. A few weeks ago I called her shop to make an appointment and was told she hadn't worked there in a month. I felt so hurt and betrayed. I felt like I had been so loyal to her and she couldn't even call me to keep me informed. I went ahead and made an appointment at the salon with another stylist. I now look like a middle aged woman with matronly hair, or even a man when I'm not wearing makeup. When I have my glasses on, well, I don't even want to talk about it.
She finally called me yesterday. I don't want to encourage this brand of crazy, but I also don't want hair that requires four different styling products just to look normal. I don't know what to do.
Labels: Me
posted by Cory at 9:41 AM
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