Seriously.
I’ve had a head of long hair lately and decided that I wanted to spice up my look.
My hairdresser for the last eight years recently retired. I couldn’t very well coax her out of retirement just to cut my hair so I chose a salon with a cool name thinking it would have edgy hairdressers.
Wrong.
The minute I walked into the salon I should have done a 180 and walked out the door. When I asked which of the two stylists had me as their next cut the wrong person answered; the one with a hair style that mimicked the 50s and the worst color on the color chart.
It’s not like me to be judgmental but I was. In full bloom.
In the last 30 years, I’ve only had three hairdressers and that’s because I left the one in L.A. to relocate to Sri Lanka where I was lucky to find a great stylist there and then after almost a decade here in Lake County, my stylist retired
When I found my Sri Lankan hairdresser, I was hoping that she could keep my blonde hair going, with the streaks of dark and streaks of white. I met her in a very tiny space with one wash bowl in it, a big black ceramic one that filled the space.
Did I have doubts? Was that how hair salons were like in Sri Lanka?
With courage, I described the “stripes” she’d have to create.
“I don’t think I can do that,” she said.
Several hours later I had my three different colors and she was my hairdresser for the next 12 years. She improved and her salon improved to a classy location and several other stylists.
We’ve kept in touch since my move here to Lake County. In fact she texted me recently saying that I needed a cut. Still my hairdresser from half the globe away.
Before my move to Sri Lanka, I went to a darling young man who had an edge. At least that’s how he sold himself to me. He also had a small space and then upgraded with a new space and spots for other stylists. However he needed a logo, a lighted sign above his shop and business cards.
I agreed to do the art work. What I didn’t know was he couldn’t make up his mind, which made it crazy difficult. Normally I could flow with the changes but my mother was dying and his changes, which needed to be done ahead of schedule, robbed me of valuable time with my mom. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell him to F-off.
My mom died and I can’t even remember his name now, nor the haircuts he gave me. He’s off my radar.
The hairstylist I remember the most was my mom’s; Bea, a tall buxom blonde. I was in sixth grade and Bea clipped me so that I no longer had a full head of luscious dark brown hair, but a pixie amount that even a pixie would consider too freaking short. She might have well shaved my head.
How did Bea think that style was good for a sixth grader? Maybe she and my mom conspired to give me the worst cut in the world.
Then there was Aki who gave me a brush cut, supposedly the current style in Japan. The only way to deal with that cut was to own it by holding my head up high as if I had the best cut ever.
I wish I had that confidence when I was in sixth grade. I hid in the bathroom and had to be coaxed out like a poor naked little bird by the cutest boy in the class.
What’s a girl to do?…cut my own hair? Marry a hairdresser? Divorce the hairdresser? Wear a wig?
Lucy Llewellyn Byard welcomes comments [email protected]
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