Friday, March 20, 2009
The Service Level Agreement of My Hair
It's 10:26 a.m. and I have a haircut appointment at 12:45 p.m.
Maybe I should try a new hairdresser for a change... but I'm too scared to leave him.
All morning, I have been thinking about my hair.
I have come to the conclusion that my relationship with and about my hair is the second-most complex relationship I have in my life.. the first being the relationship I have with my waistline. And I don't think I'm alone in this.... am I, girls?
First, the expectations I have for my hair are completely out-of-line and unreasonable. I expect it to single-handedly make me gorgeous, glamorous, polished and skinny. If my hair looks bad, I feel bad all day. If I am having a good day, glance in the mirror and find my hair has betrayed me, my mood immediately plummets.
Second, the expectations I have for the man who cuts my hair are completely out-of-line and unreasonable. Why can't he make my fine hair thick and glorious? My short, uncooperative, somewhat frizzy hair become long and sleek? Why can't he maintain my current style AND keep the length I have worked so hard to grow out? Why can't he keep my bangs from growing out so damn fast??
Side note about my hairdresser: When I inform people that my hairdresser is, in fact, a male, people automatically assume that he is a homosexual. I fully understand why, of course, and I fully pity him for the raised eyebrows and assumptions he deals with. But the fact is that if you met my hairdresser in a dark alley, you would be terrified. The man encompasses the term "vato". Shaved head, tattoo sleeves, multiple piercings. Low rider with rims and his last name in gothic lettering on the back window. A virile chicano specimen.