hairstylin’ and maxin’

There was some advice column somewhere that extolled the value of leaving your hair the fuck alone if you had something big to do like, oh, say, being in a wedding. Did I listen? Did I heed the sage wisdom of the style writers in Seventeen magazine? Of course not. “I want to wear my hair DOWN at the wedding”, I thought. “Clearly I need a haircut to wear my hair DOWN at the wedding”.

To be honest, I did need a haircut. Badly. For the better part of a year I’ve been cutting my hair with the same scissors I use to clip cupons and my guitar strings, so the ends were shot and it was high time for a professional styling.

And this is always what happens to me.

I go in, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail. I take out the elastic and let loose my untouched, matted down, raggy looking hair and the stylist stares in horror.

“my hair is actually really curly”, I tell them. “oh yes, I can see that” they say. “I don’t even use a hairbrush,” I tell them. “Wash and go.” To push my laissez-faire attitude into stark relief, I demonstrate for the stylist how I previously tied my hair back with an inch-thick rubber band and cut it all off with kitchen shears. “Do you have a curling iron?” she asks me.

So she’s cutting. And she’s cutting. And I’m kind of like, wow, this isn’t really coming out how I imagined it might. But it looks cool, and I enjoy the thrill of the unknown, so I keep my mouth shut, eager to see what happens. “Do you have a flat iron?” she asks me. I laugh, and tell her that honestly, I don’t even have a hairdryer. And yet she persists with the cutting. “If you want a flat-iron, we can order you one through the salon. We have great flat-irons”.

So she dries the hair. It’s looking pretty cool. Not what I expected, but pretty cool.

Then she starts cutting more and I am like woah, it’s getting real 80s in here all of a sudden. And she’s talking about “thinning it out in the front layers” and using “pomade” to “piece it out” and then, two and a half hours after she started, I am done, and I have…

a modified Rachel.

which, on a curly-head like myself, requires daily maintenance with a hairdryer, flat iron, and curler. And, probably, a motherfucking hairbrush.

Have I mentioned that I’m in a WEDDING on SATURDAY? Because I am. In a wedding. On Saturday.

Oh seventeen magazine, your words are wise. I’ll never doubt you again.

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