So, as I had written previously, I had broken up with my old hairstylist and had begun the long, painful journey to find a new one. I thought I had found one with that great haircut, but then she got pregnant and screwed up my friend’s hair. So, I decided to continue my search.
You have no idea how hard it is to find a good stylist. You can’t just enter any old salon willy-nilly and ask for a haircut. I mean, you can, but just know that you’re opening yourself up to days of tears and weeks of hats. It ain’t pretty, people.
So, you do the research. You ask your friends where they go. You ask your friends’ friends where they go. You ask strangers on the street (the ones with great hair – not the crazy homeless guy who just peed on the building next to you) where they go. Finally, you throw caution to the wind and make an appointment. And, if you’re lucky, you find a keeper... if you’re not, you find a great hat.
Enter Brad.* I learned about Brad from a co-worker. Her niece is a colorist at this salon and recommended Brad. So, I made an appointment. Our first meeting was uneventful. I thought he did a fairly decent job on my hair. Actually, I thought he did a great job. As I mentioned, I have the crazy cowlicks in the back and, somehow, Brad was able to tame them. Every time I moved my head, my hair fell beautifully, back into place. It was a great cut.
Additionally, Brad was entertaining. He’s awesomely gay. Have I ever mentioned my desire for a gay best friend? No? Weird. Alas, I have never been lucky enough to find one. My co-worker has one and he’s exactly the way I pictured my imaginary gay BFF. Someone who would look at me and say, “Oh, honey. That outfit? N-O.” Or, hopefully, “Honey, you look fab-U-lous!” Our first meeting, Brad was quick to compliment my top. And this last time? My boots. I like him. I know it’s his job and all, but it sounded sincere and I like my boots, too, so… he has great taste.
Anyway, Brad is also into theatre and musicals. He performs a lot, in addition to his day job. And he likes to sing along to the music playing in the salon. I love him, really. We spoke of Lady Gaga and how we totally want to be friends with her, even though she’s insane (mostly because she’s insane... and rich - an awesome combo). And he’s modest, to boot. When I walked into the salon yesterday, he said he thought to himself what an awesome cut I had (which he had given me, obviously). Hilarious.
This time, I decided to go to my co-worker’s colorist niece as well. This salon is different than any other I’ve been to because they all have specialties – color or style, whatever. So, if I want a cut and color, I have to see two different people. It’s probably a pain for the people scheduling, but it’s nice to know they all have their areas of expertise and you’re most likely going to come out with a great cut and color.
This time, I came armed with a picture. Most of the time, I never have an idea of what I want. What I want more than anything is for someone to look at me and say, “THIS! This is what you need!” But, whatever. It’s never going to happen. So, fine. Carpe diem. I’m going to do it myself.
And guess what happened? I was talked out of it.
The problem with me is that, while I want good hair, I’m pretty lazy about it. I never keep up with my highlights and my hair is usually so overgrown by the time I go back, it takes 2 hours to whip it back into shape. And, because of that, my new colorist suggested I go for a more natural look.
Which, let’s face it, is probably better for me. Because, while I used to be able to pull off funky hairstyles in my youth, I’d probably look pretty silly driving carpools in my minivan with pink hair. So, I let her do the responsible color.
3-1/2 hours I was at the salon. Have you ever seen the Brady Bunch movie from the 90’s? Mrs. Brady (played by Shelley Long) goes to a new hair salon and gets David Spade as a stylist? 7 hours (and a blowtorch) later, her hair looks exactly the same as when she walked in?
That’s me. That’s my hair.
I really should embrace it. It’s not a bad cut. It’s not a bad color. I just have to stop expecting something different than what I have because I must have already found perfection and didn’t know it.
Right?
* Name change to protect the fabulous.
