On my hairdresser.
I’ve always had a hard time finding someone to do a good job cutting my hair. Apparently, my hair’s difficult. I don’t know why, but it is. For years, I had uneven hair because no one could seem to cut a straight line. I wasn’t going for fancy, I was just going for straight. No layers even. I think it’s a big part of the reason I dread getting my hair cut and go only two or three times a year.
I’ve been seeing Jason now for about a year and half. The first time he cut my hair, he blew my socks off. The second time, it was pretty good. After that, I kind of felt like he was rushing and just trying to finish. The other problem was he never gave me the cut I was looking for. I’ve been trying to get a change for a while, and no one will do it for me. They’ll cut my hair shorter or add more layers, but no one will change the overall shape of the cut. This has been my hairstyle since I was eighteen. Sometimes shorter, but the same cut.
I had been secretly watching the stylist next to Jason when I got my hair cut. Out of the corner of my eye. He and Jason are friends. They talk and joke with each other while cutting hair. I overheard his name. Paul. I kept my eye on him. He seemed to be doing some really great cuts. Also, he didn’t smell like cigarettes. Jason did.
But I didn’t know how to do it. I didn’t want to just change. I mean, they sat right next to each other. Jason would know. Even though I don’t go that regularly and he didn’t really seem to remember me until he started cutting my hair and then made a comment like, oh, I remember now, you’re the one with the hair that takes so long to cut. (You see the kind of vibe I was getting.) But how to do it?
I mean, I should just do it. Right? No biggie. It’s not like we’re married or something. But you know how it feels. Kind of like you’re married.
So when I called to schedule an appointment and they said Jason wasn’t available at the time I wanted. I was excited. But I kept my cool. Oh, okay. Is there anyone else because I have a babysitter then and I really need a cut? Turns out, Paul, the guy who sits right next to Jason, was available. He’s a senior stylist too. Would that be okay?
I was jumping up and down in my head, but I stayed cool. Sure. That’s fine. They’d check with Jason, maybe he’d rearrange some things for me. Oh, that’s okay, no biggie, I said.
So, I went for my cut armed with some pictures of what I was going for. I have an oval face with a long chin. I don’t like my chin. I don’t like cuts that fall above or within two inches of my chin because they accentuate it and make it look more pointy. So my hair is always longish. But longish hair pulls my face down, making it look even longer. Since I’ve lost some weight, my face has become more angular, harsh even, so I was looking to draw attention up. With a lot of layer up top and bangs. (Apparently, they’re called fringe now, but I’m not that hip, so bangs it is.)
I showed my pictures. Paul perused them. Then he said he was a little concerned about the bangs because I have a cowlick right in the middle of my forehead. They might lay funny.
Aha! That’s why no one will cut bangs for me. People, tell me these things. I had bangs until I was eighteen. They didn’t lay funny. I’m willing to take the risk.
So he cut my hair. And Jason walked by. He didn’t have a haircut scheduled. He had a break scheduled. Apparently, I wasn’t worth moving his break by a half hour.
He saw me. He recognized me, I could tell by the drop in his face. I said hi and smiled. He looked like he had been slapped. I didn’t care. Why?
Because now I’m in love with Paul. He gave me the cut I’ve been trying to get for years. Finally. I’m not a hundred percent sure I like it. But it’s what I asked for, and I appreciate having a little say in my haircut.
I like the bangs. They soften my face. And the cut does make my face look squarer. I’m not entirely sure. People have said they like it, but what are they going to say?
My husband said I don’t look like me. Which is true, since I’ve had the same haircut since we met, thirteen years ago. My mom said she wasn’t sure if the hair didn’t overwhelm my face a little. Maybe. I’m getting used to it. I’m liking it more now after a few days. I’m doing better styling it. Hair is not my forte.
And now I have a new hair stylist. Paul. My bald, pot bellied, scraggly goateed, skinny jeans wearing hair stylist.
My new haircut. Sorry about the no makeup, scary face. That’s how I roll, folks. And that’s a towel hook, not an antenna, in case you were worried.