I have a love/hate relationship with getting my hair cut.
On the one hand, I love (love) having my hair shampooed, massaged and brushed. Some people pay for a full body massage; I'd pay someone to brush my hair for an hour. Really. I also love how soft my hair feels once it has been professionally cut and blow dried. Why doesn't it feel that way when I do it myself?
On the other hand, I've had some horrific hair cuts too. I don't have difficult hair to cut, really. It's straight. It's long. It's pretty boring. Yet I've had some shocking cuts, terrible layers, and scarring experiences that have left me dreading having to visit again. I may have also cried. They were tears of pure horror.
Getting your hair cut in the capital is not cheap. It's a bit of a splurge actually. I usually put off going.. but decided to do it this morning, while walking past a random salon in North London during my lunch break.
I should add that I have this irrational need to please my hairdresser, no matter where I'm going. It sounds a bit mental, but I always tend to get the same comments when I visit. 'Wow, your hair is so endy/fine/fly-away', 'Do you colour your hair? It's quite dry', and 'I think we'll need to take a good few inches off it to make it even'.
All of these comments drive me crazy. I can't help it! I have long, endy hair that splits in about three seconds. STOP REMINDING ME. I KNOW.
Today was good, though. She commented on how healthy my hair was, made me quite relaxed and once she found out I was engaged, was giving me hints and tips on how to style my hair for the wedding. (For the record, I'm still clueless.)
And the best part? It seems the remnants of my layers-from-hell are finally, years later, grown out - leaving the back of my hair all the same length. It's bliss, bliss I tell you!
You can tell Oscar is pretty darned impressed with my hair. Or just dazzled by my blinding purple pyjamas. I can't decide which.
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
14 Comments • Labels: It's All About Me