Minus Twelve Inches

My haircut took a long time-- I was almost late for the talk. And I had such mixed feelings as I was waiting in the lounge area of the salon about what I would allow to happen-- all clouded by fear. Every few years, I usually cut off about six inches of hair, and no matter what idea I came in with, I would leave with the same haircut and tears of regret.

So while I was sitting in the salon, my printed pictures in hand, casually thumbing through a haircut magazine for other ideas, I became afraid. In a fit of conservatism, I selected a back-up cut that would meet my needs and be less dram-/traumatic than the one I had selected.

I saw a person come out of the cutting area, with a cut cute for her but something my mom would get and I feared. She had a young girl with her, maybe in her teens, with the exact same haircut. I shuddered. Then the young girl paid for her cut and left, and I realized the older woman was one of the stylists. My fear shoot up. Is this the woman who would cut my hair? Could she possibly create the fun, young, chunky haircut I desired, or would I also have the feathered beehive that would turn into a mullet in the Indiana humidity? I hid my printout under the magazine, turning to the page with the longer (easier-to-grow-out) cut, even imagining that after all this, I still might say, "Just an inch off the bottom, please." The stylist went back behind the curtain. Sigh, not for me.

Eventually, I young woman with medium length, thick hair, and a big tattoo on her arm. Good, I thought. A young woman with a tattoo could get it right. The print-out came back out.

As she began talking to me, looking at my profile to judge the length, massaging my scalp, I started to see how young she was, and I started getting nervous again. At one point, she said, "ok, now I am going to consult with Chi-Wah. That's what we do here." Chi-Wah turned out to be a person, not just the name of the salon. And she turned out to be the woman I had seen earlier. Perhaps I was wrong? Perhaps that young girl wanted an older haircut?

As the cut progressed, it also was revealed my stylist was Chi-Wah's daughter, and while Chi-Wah was checked the other stylist's progress also, she hovered near, checking on the progress of my hair. They both said, "Would you like to keep the ponytail?" I have kept them in the past, but always had to ask. This was so formal! Sure! The hair was carefully pony-tailed, and attention drawn as she cut it off. It was dramatic, but not tramatic like the last time I had had that done. ("You're too old for long hair, I'm just going to chop it off.") She did it, and I didn't cry. It felt good, lighter.

So, blah blah, the girl starts cutting, and at one point, Chi-Wah comes over and starts critiquing, then offers to help, and soon both are flat-ironing my hair and when it is time to cut the layers, Chi-Wah takes offer, talking her daughter through the steps, and referring to me as "the client." When it was done, I was shocked, but not unhappy. I flipped it around. I liked it more.

Here is what it looked like the next day. It was still holding the shape/style/ironing of the cut yesterday, although my atrocious roots still need attending.

And here is what it looked like post-shower. My hair has some natural waviness, and I had asked for a cut that could work straight or with this wave. I'm pretty pleased!