I’m writing this because I’m tired of trying to explain why my hair looks like it belongs to Barry Gibb of the BeeGees during the Saturday Night Fever era. It’s not as bad as Maurice Gibb hair, but not as cute as Andy Gibb hair or I wouldn’t be complaining.
I’ve tried to explain my ill-advised look a couple of times, and the experience leads me to believe that I have the makings of at least a 2-part saga. So here goes …
Women have very serious relationships with their hair dressers. In many ways, it is more complicated than marriage.
From ages 13 to 30, the same person cut my hair. The relationship was arranged for me through my mom, the Notorious Babs, and I found no fault with it. I have strong opinions, but not about hair, and Julie the Hairdresser and Babs figured out everything from prom to my wedding with little interference from me. Had I not moved to Podunk, I would very likely still be in this comfortable arrangement.
The reason people — at least women — are ever reluctant to move is because we almost always have to start our salon relationships from scratch.
I clung to the past –I admit it — and for months I would sneak appointments with Julie back home 300 miles away over Christmas or Easter vacation, or just go on a really long errand. Eventually, however, I’d had the same referral for a hair dresser in Salmon from a number of my new and nearly trusted friends. For privacy’s sake, I’ll call her Hair Beast. I came to find out that her clients weren’t really all that satisfied with Hair Beast’s services — they were just scared out of their wits to leave. I consider myself to be a no bullshit kind of gal, but I too, fell into the battering. Hair Beast had such a bad attitude when I was sitting docilely in her chair, what would she do if I ran into her in downtown Podunk with a fresh, even new cut??
Finally, we had a falling out over the War in Iraq. Despite having no question about Hair Beast’s stance on this issue, I declared my peace-loving pacifist inclinations — out loud. Beast’s shoulders tightened and she hacked at my hair until I looked like Maurice Gibb after watching Melissa Etheridge at Lilith Fair.
For the stunning conclusion to this story, go to Straight Hair Talk Part II the Stunning Conclusion.