Some things, I like to say, are better left to the professionals. Like teaching. And doctoring.
And now, hair cutting.
I have a difficult time with getting my hair cut. I’m pretty sure my mom trimmed my hair as a small kid, and the same lady cut my hair from the third grade until my wedding day. I even drove home from college to have her cut m hair, because she was the only one who understood my cowlicks, my hair’s weird ways of refusing to hold both a curl and a straightening, my baby-fine texture, my scalp’s sensitivity. She saw me through the great DIY highlighting disaster that left me with ORANGE HAIR. We went through a lot together.
And then I moved 1000 miles away, where all our friends were also transplants, where I worked with a bunch of dudes. How was I supposed to find a good stylist? How would any stylist be as good as Joan? So I went to MasterCuts and kept to simple styles. And other women always seem shocked, but seriously, MasterCuts can give you long layers or a classic bob as well as anywhere, don’t hate. But after a while with MasterCuts, I began to feel that trimming my hair would be easy enough for me to do myself. Or better yet, since I can’t reach or see the back of my head very well, for Jon to do! He can even cut a straight line better than I can! So today we decided to try it…
Within a few minutes I had a hacked-up left side of my head and was trying to throw a hissy fit without making Jon feel bad for something I asked him to do, even though he said several times that he wasn’t so sure about it. Where’s Joan when I need her? Oh, right, Arkansas.
So, ashamed of myself for my hair-hubris, I headed into MasterCuts. I made sure to emphasize just what an IDIOT I am before pulling out the ponytail and revealing the damage. I looked like I’d had a dustup with a toddler and some safety scissors, if I’m being honest.
Ooooh GURRRRRLLLLL, my stylist said, you really chopped it! I told her I understood she might have to take off a lot of hair, and swore upon a shampoo bottle that I would NEVER, under any circumstances, try this again. She, proving my point about how easy they make this whole hair-cutting thing look, whipped my mess into a kicky bob in ten minutes flat. I tipped her generously and left, breathing a sigh of relief that I’m not going to have to wear a paper bag on my head to work this week. I’ve learned my lesson about doing things I should really be paying others to do.
2 Replies to “better left to the pros”
A.) Hacked hair or no, you’re totally adorable.
B.) I always, always, always try to bring photographs of what I’m looking for as I haven’t found a stylist as consistent as the one I had when I lived with my parents. It makes a huge difference–I try to also get various angles if possible, and it makes their job easier. Since moving to NYC, I now have to find yet another stylist–I do not look forward to it.
C.) Did I have a run in with my wily fingers and safety scissors? Oh yes. It was wintertime, my bangs were not drying properly (they were shortish, curly and looked awful) and in my eleven-year-old hubris, I chopped them off into this awful, awful fringe. It took a while for them to grow back, to say the least–and yours does not look bad at all in the first photo.
Thanks! The first photo looks awesome because it’s pre-hacked-side :)
After 24 hours with the shorter hair, it’s growing on me.
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