I was going to call this post "All is vanity," but then I thought, "Hmm." I thought, "I think I already have a post called 'All is vanity.' I'll check." There are actually two posts in my archives called "All is vanity," so I'm branching out.
All three of the posts are about hair: the first about a terrible salon experience, the second about going gray, and now this one about the ridiculous haircut I got today. Here, I'll show you:
See how the hair on the left side of my face is three inches longer than the hair on the right side of my face? That is not what I asked for.
I just wanted a quick trim. Perhaps if I were more of a real grownup I'd have a regular person who cut my hair, but I've only ever found one person in this town whose haircuts I liked enough to go back for. And her salon closed, leaving me high and dry. So I just went to the chain shop again, coupon in hand.
Maybe I should have known this was a bad idea when the hairdresser stopped the person working next to her to seek help. "What should I do here?" she asked. "Cut it dry," the person at the next station said sensibly. "Don't stretch it out or you'll cut off more than you mean to. Just lift it up gently." Exactly right, I thought to myself. That's all that needs to happen here. Just a quick evening up and I'll be on my way.
"So, ah, how long have you been cutting hair?" I asked lightly. "About four years," she said, "but for almost all of that time I was cutting men's hair. I've only been working here for about six weeks." "Well, my hair is pretty forgiving," I said.
For most of the haircut I wasn't really worried. I've had so many terrible haircuts in my life, you guys. The Please-Don't-Give-Me-Layers Layered Cut of 1981, the Nearly Bald Fiasco of 1986, the Never Let A Hairdresser At Your Scalp With Scissors When He Just Had An Argument With The Manager Trainwreck of 1989, the Weeping In The Car On The Way Home Episode of 1990, the Low Blood Sugar Is Bad For Stylist Listening Comprehension Hatchet Job of 2001 -- and those are just the lowest points. I thought I was inured to bad haircuts.
She quickly abandoned the instructions from her neighbor and reverted to what she knew: combing out every strand, stretching it to its full length, looking surprised when it sprang back shorter than planned. I didn't panic. I had a bunch of damage from sun and chlorine, and I knew that she might need to cut a fair amount to tidy it up. I looked increasingly Bozo-esque as the comb and the scissors left my hair increasingly frizzier and shorter, but I stayed calm. She was checking for symmetry as she went, I thought, and it was still long enough for a (tiny) ponytail.
But then I got home and discovered that she had given me the least symmetrical haircut I have ever received, in 46 years of largely disappointing haircuts.
My hair is pretty forgiving. If I had only shown you this picture--
--you would probably not have said, "Gee, Jamie, your hair is looking awfully lopsided." It is even less conspicuous now, since I haven't just finished stretching it out to show the contrast and my head is not tilted to the longer side. But still!
I am not quite sure what to do. I don't really want the left side to be as short as the right side, which means that I don't actually want to go back there and get it evened up. I don't want to complain and get this stylist in trouble -- she would probably have been fine if I had less crazy hair. So I guess that means I just...walk around with uneven hair for a while?
This does not seem quite right to me. It's an opportunity to cultivate detachment, right?
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