hair devil

i went in looking for a trim and to have my roots touched up.

i walked out looking like a friggin' soccer mom in a minivan. (no offense, wendy, i know you are considering a minivan to transport your growing brood these days.)

seriously, it was a miscommunication of the highest degree. salman rushdie had a fatwa, "a hit" put on him in soprano-speak, for lesser crimes that what this stylist did to me.

i think i said something like: "i like the length, just trim up my layers in the front."

she said: "you should probably take a little bit off the length to trim up the edges there, too."

i said: "okay."

now what she heard was something like: "yes, you can trim a half-inch from the back of my hair. but you must also cut back in all of those layers that i have diligently grown out the last four-months, suffering from bad roots and missed highlight appointments in order to put some distance between me and your scissors. because really, i have obviously not suffered enough for my decision to do something drastic to my hair last winter. yes, almighty hair dresser, you have fixed my color addiction to dying my blonde hair a deep red by helping me settle on a more natural shade that does not look like i dipped my head in kool-aid. and yes, i listened when you told me it would take months before i would grow my hair back to an acceptable length, but each hair cut is like taking two steps forward and three steps back, so yes, please cut off all of the growth i have managed to scrounge up. and do it RIGHT NOW!"

true, i do believe in taking chances with my hair which is miraculously healthy considering the hell i have put it through over the years. fuschia, purple, deep red, light red, blonde, blonder and blondest highlights and let's not forget last year's red highlights over blonde. in my defense, it looked cool until it begins to grow out and then there goes my new look because as much fun as it is do actually take on a new style, i have the worst track record for maintaining it once i get it.

last year's attempt at a quarter life crisis arrived 5 years too late. on the eve of my third decade i tried to tell myself that i was still cool. i was hip. i went to a trendy salon in the city, told the stylist and colorist i wanted a change and they had free rein. what i hadn't noticed was the sucker stamped on my forehead in the mirror. the cut and color looked fabulous - angled, assymetrical and red, just the amount of edginess that my ego needed.

until i walked into work the next day and realized how that is not entirely who i am any more. sure, i still think like a counterrevolutionary at times but in reality, my harder edges have or are in the process of being honed to an acceptable level.

which is why this latest hair snafu is so discouraging. in 12 months, my hair has done a 180 degree flip from hipster to this mom-ster. this whole easing into adulthood is rough enough on its own, it doesn't need any acceleration at the hands of edward scissor-stylist-hands.