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hair today
Dec. 20th, 2002 08:42 pmI got my hair cut today.
I have a love-hate relationship with my hair, and with getting it cut. I love the feeling of somebody grooming me. I hate the way it looks after it's been cut, when I have to "style" it (read: towel it dry and comb it through) because it never looks quite like the stylist makes it look. I both hate and love how it looks when I walk out the door; change is good, but is it me?
In fact, I frequently feel a prisoner of my hair, especially when it's long. Men swoon. Hairdressers coo. It's wavy and thick and gorgeous, and the previous time I got it cut, the stylist refused to cut it as short as I asked for, and just gave me a trim. "You don't really want to cut that pretty hair off, dearie," she said, and I'm so wishy-washy on the subject of my hair that I decided I didn't.
But the problem with just letting The Hair grow and grow is that it sort of takes over. I'm not exactly a large person, and pretty soon I'm a close relative of Cousin It. And I shed worse than any cat you ever owned. After a while, I get tired of hair for hair's sake. I can't quite bring myself to get it cut really short, although I envy women with the confidence and the jawline to bring it off. But it wouldn't be fair to my hair.
It was the most expensive haircut I have ever gotten in my life. The stylist, an Italian guy named Luca (I think I paid for the accent and the cute name) brought it back up to about shoulder length, and did a funky thing with thinning shears at the ends which he assures me will bring the curl out and keep the frizz down. We shall see if I still like it tomorrow.
I have a love-hate relationship with my hair, and with getting it cut. I love the feeling of somebody grooming me. I hate the way it looks after it's been cut, when I have to "style" it (read: towel it dry and comb it through) because it never looks quite like the stylist makes it look. I both hate and love how it looks when I walk out the door; change is good, but is it me?
In fact, I frequently feel a prisoner of my hair, especially when it's long. Men swoon. Hairdressers coo. It's wavy and thick and gorgeous, and the previous time I got it cut, the stylist refused to cut it as short as I asked for, and just gave me a trim. "You don't really want to cut that pretty hair off, dearie," she said, and I'm so wishy-washy on the subject of my hair that I decided I didn't.
But the problem with just letting The Hair grow and grow is that it sort of takes over. I'm not exactly a large person, and pretty soon I'm a close relative of Cousin It. And I shed worse than any cat you ever owned. After a while, I get tired of hair for hair's sake. I can't quite bring myself to get it cut really short, although I envy women with the confidence and the jawline to bring it off. But it wouldn't be fair to my hair.
It was the most expensive haircut I have ever gotten in my life. The stylist, an Italian guy named Luca (I think I paid for the accent and the cute name) brought it back up to about shoulder length, and did a funky thing with thinning shears at the ends which he assures me will bring the curl out and keep the frizz down. We shall see if I still like it tomorrow.