As I sat with the Thom’s at dinner last Saturday, Megan looked over to me and said, “It’s time for a haircut. I’ll give you the name of my stylist. Go to her this week.”
That following Tuesday, I called Megan’s stylist and set up my first appointment for the next day. Wednesday morning, I was mounting mockups on boards for a presentation with another designer, and I asked a female co-worker for some advice on tipping for my first salon cut. Suddenly, I looked over and there were 8 other women nearby ready to listen for details on my hair getting cut; apparently it has been the subject of discussion in the office.
Sufficiently frightened that I might lose some sort of mojo with the loss of my locks, I met with my new stylist. She asked me what I was looking to do, and I told her that everyone likes the length of my hair, but it was looking mangy and it was starting to grow into a mullet since my hair up top laid back on my head.
The experience was… pleasant? The stylist was great, and I was only mildly tense getting shampooed and scalp massaged for the first time in my life. I kept thinking about primates eating whatever they find off the one they are grooming. End result: I like my new hair. It curls into my face quite a bit and for some reason it doesn’t bother me that much. So far, I’ve received good compliments from it. My hair has always been super-short. This has been a weird few months to see myself transform daily in the mirror.
You can also browse through the Parlor archives.
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