It’s probably due to the fact that I always used to have really long hair (meaning at one point I was able to sit on it) until three years ago that is plus, whenever a hairdresser sees my hair they start rambling on about short asymmetrical spiky 'dos, making me quiver in fear. My grandmother also considers long hair to be a virtue and a blessing and cried every time I had a centimeter removed, needless to say, she wouldn’t talk to me for days when I decided to try something new back then.
Seeing as my hair was always long, I hardly ever went to the hairdressers. The result is that I’m still incredibly nervous and uncomfortable whenever I go now. It’s my equivalent of going to the dentist. Every time I muster up the courage to head on down, I’ve always got some trendy style in mind but once I’m sitting in that chair, I panic and say ‘just a little off the ends please’. I’m still determined to have a sleek and stylish hairdo, one day at least.
The last time I went, I had it cut shoulder length with bangs (the most radical thing I’ve ever done thus far) but several months down the line bits started sticking out, strange wavy parts manifested and it looked like a mermaid dress: voluptuous on top, going in at the neck and sprouting feet down below. I know if I went more often these things wouldn’t happen and maybe I’d feel more at ease but alas, I’m not wired that way.
This afternoon I went in to have my ends trimmed, which is my idea of living on the edge, but then something strange happened. Before you could even utter the phrase Bob’s your uncle, the stylist had chopped off half my hair and was already heading for the cash register leaving me slightly traumatized and looking like a sweeter, softer version of Mary Portas.
Now I have to admit that I kinda like it, after the initial shock passed at least. Who knows, maybe a little tough love was just what I needed.
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