Story of a Hair Cut

Today I got my hair cut, which is always a little bit of a terrifying experience for me. If you ask any woman, guaranteed that at some point in their life, they have a haircut gone bad story. Another guarantee, is that a woman considers a good hair stylist to be a rare and valuable thing. The importance and significance of finding a good hair dresser really cannot be stressed enough.

Women will go to great lengths to find and keep a good hair stylist. I can remember when my mom was on the hunt for a good hair stylist. We would be in the mall, and when my mom saw someone with hair that she liked, she would walk up to them, tell them that she liked their hair and ask where they had it done.

Of course, women are not the only ones that know the value of a good hair stylist. My dad had been going to the same barber since the time he was 11 years old. When my parents were first married, they lived in the same neighbourhood as when my dad was young, so he continued going to his same barber. It was easy because he didn't have to explain anything. He could just walk in, sit down and the barber knew exactly how to cut his hair. Eventually, we moved further away from my dad's barber. At first, when we moved to Langley, my dad would still drive the 30 or so minutes to see his barber. Eventually, we moved to Mission, which was over an hour away. My dad tried to keep up the barber visits even after moving to Mission, but eventually gave up. My dad's barber was the one person he could really trust. When we all told him that he was going a little thin on top, he asked his barber, who of course said he was not, and whom my dad believed over his family.

I can without a doubt recall my worst hair cut incident. I was blessed with poker straight hair that most girls now with curly or wavy hair spend hours straightening with a hot iron. Anyway, when I was thirteen, it was the early nineties. This was a time of spiral perms being all the rage. I permed my hair so much in my teens that most people thought I had naturally curly hair. I had hair that was past my shoulders with long layers, short bangs and it was constantly in a tight poodle perm.

I had begged my mom to take me to get my hair cut. My mom finally gave in and took me to Magic Cuts. As I sat in the hair stylist's chair, I explained that I wanted to keep the same long layered style. I simply wanted "a trim." That "trim" turned out to be the biggest disaster ever (well, in thirteen year old girl terms, this was definitely up there with the treat of nuclear war). I saw the hair stylist pick up the first handful of hair to cut. She picked up a chunk of hair just behind my bangs, and in one swift cut she proceeded to cut about five inches of hair off, leaving about two inches of straight hair behind (my poodle perm was in the growing out phase which I tried to make last as long as possible before re-perming) as well as my jaw on the floor. The damage had been done and there wasn't much else I could do. She couldn't very well glue my hair back on.

When the butcher, er, I mean hair stylist was done, I was left with the worst looking mullet I've ever seen. Short straight hair on top, with longer curly hair at the back. I walked over to where my mom was waiting and she knew that I didn't like the cut. She asked me what happened and I said I just wanted to go. My mom paid and we left the salon. Once we got outside, I explained what had happened to my mom, who marched me back in to demand her money back since the hair dresser clearly didn't listen to what I wanted. The woman tried to argue that she needed to cut off more to give a good quality cut, but in the end my mom got her money back. I however, did not get my hair back. My grandma suggested that I simply fluff it up with a little bit of mousse, since mousse fixes everything. I spent that year wearing very wide cloth hair bands to hide my hair while it grew back.

Anyway, back to my hair cut today. Ever since moving to New Westminster two years ago, I have not had much luck in finding a hair dresser that cuts hair the way that I like, and does not charge an arm and a leg to do it. Of course, Rob does not understand why I don't just get my hair cut by our landlady up stairs, who has a salon in their home. Of course, what I have explained to him is that the relationship between a hair stylist and their customer is a very fragile one with so many possibilities for awkwardness. There are certain rules that you just can't break. For example, if you get your hair cut by a particular stylist in a salon, you can't decide you want to try someone else and go back to the same salon to do this. Trust me, I have broken that rule and seen the look on the original stylist's face as you're getting your hair cut. It's the equivalent of cheating on a boyfriend. So, I explain to Rob, that if I don't like the way the landlady cuts my hair, she will know if I don't get it cut by her again, and well, we do have to live here after all.

So, I decide to go to the Great Clips that is five minutes from our house for many reasons. It's fast, cheap, and since I had Elisa with me it's also a bonus that they always give the kids toys and a lollipop to keep them entertained.

When I sit down in the chair, the stylist asks me the usual questions. Being used to trying out new stylists, I am prepared. I know exactly what I want, and I even have a picture of the exact cut that I bring with me every time. Well, it didn't take long for me to get a little anxious. The stylist seemed so nervous and unsure of herself, never a good sign. She asked way too many question, especially considering the all important picture that I had been so considerate to bring. I can tell right away that she's not cutting short enough (most don't) but the thing that really scares me is that her hands are actually SHAKING! With each piece of hair that she picks up, her hand is shaking as she cuts. Not a good sign.

The picture I provided was of a very short, very spunky do with chunks of hair spiked up all over the place. When she was done cutting, She asked if I'd like some styling product. I said, "sure" and was expecting for her to try out some cool hair wax or putty and do something really funky with my hair. Instead, she blow dried my hair with a round brush (which she managed to get tangled badly in my short hair). She brushed my bangs (did I mention that I don't wear bangs?) straight down, parted my hair and brushed it straight down on both sides. She then proceeded to spray on hair spray to hold this helmet shape.

I paid and got out of there as fast as I could.

Once I got home and played with my hair a bit with some proper product I discovered that the cut was not all that horrible and it would certainly work until my next torture session, er, I mean hair cut.