Boy did I have a plan for today’s pic!…. No. That’s a lie. I had no plan. I woke up feeling like crap and basically that feeling followed me through the day. So much so that I decided to ask the girls favorite babysitter to bring them home from school because I just needed some time to myself. My plan? Head over to a local artsy coffee house with my laptop and work on all things Muchness.
As I drove the sitters car (she needed the carseats so we swapped) I “felt” young again. I imagined myself sitting in the cafe just pretending to be young and carefree once more. That, I thought, would be my picture. As I walked towards the coffee shop, I passed a hair salon.
Quick history of me and haircuts. When I was 9 I got my first real salon haircut. I hated it. It made me want to cry. It’s possible I did cry. My feelings have pretty much never changed. Back when I was young, muchy and fearless, I’d cut my hair, on my own, on a whim. Literally. In ninth grade my hair was halfway down my back. After seeing one picture in one magazine and deciding i “felt like it”, I wrapped a belt around my head above my ears and cut everything below the belt. With a razor. This travesty of haircutting/celebration of ‘because I can’ continued through college. I’d grow it long and chop it off. Grow. Chop. (dye it pink) And every time I tried to get it cut by a professional, I’d feel like I did that day when I was nine. Yucky.
And then, when I was 24, I went into a supercool salon in Brooklyn and this supercool chic cut my hair into a supercool style and I LOVED it. She sculpted my hair into a perfect cut for my face and my hair and my personality. She was truly a hair artist.
For the last 11 years I’ve thought about that cut.
Today, I decided I want that cut again.
I walked that salon and told them about the cut that lives in infamy in my mind. I asked if we could recreate the magic. I don’t know if she thought I was serious. I was.
And then I micromanaged my haircut. I talked about this haircut from 11 years ago like it was an old lover that had made me feel something no-one else ever could. I talked about how the stylist, 11 years ago, moved around my head. How she twirled and chopped and how the cut made me feel peppy and cute and quirky, but sexy.
Three times the stylist told me she was done and three times I told her she wasn’t.
And then, slowly, it took shape. The cut that didn’t look like a nj housewife, but an artsy, confident college chic. My waves fell around my eyes the way I remembered, drawing attention away from my jaw. The back felt full and healthy, crunching in my fingers.
I micromanaged that cut until I had what I was looking for. And that would be a smile on my face.
Is it perfect? No. Honestly, it’s not perfect. But it’s close. Close enough that if I grab some scissors at home I’m sure I can make it just perfect. 😉
Bonus- I came to that coffee shop after wards to write this post and as I tap on this phone like a pigeon, I think the cute 20 something barista is checking me out… Elie will be so proud. 🙂
Have you ever done something super drastic with your hair just, ya know, because you can??