I haven’t had a hair cut since before we left for Austria. Back when my hair was really long, I would routinely go a year (or longer — yikes!) without getting it cut, but I’m quickly learning that it doesn’t work well with shorter hair. My recent haircuts don’t always seem to grow out gracefully. I’ve been struggling with what to do about my hair: I loved having it short when I was pregnant, but lately, I’ve kind of been missing having it long. When my hair was really long, I wore it up almost all the time, but I knew how to wear it up in a way that I liked. With my current hair, I have no idea what to do with it.
This morning, I went to get it cut. I had a good consultation with the stylist, and she started cutting. All seemed to be in order. Then, at the end, she styled it. I hate it. She made it big, fluffy and frumpy. I think it aged me at least 5 (maybe 10 years). Yuck. I honestly had no idea I could look that old. It’s my first experience ever walking out of a salon and feeling worse than when I went in. I’m hoping (praying) that when I wash it and “style” it (I use that phrase loosely, since mostly I wash it and towel dry) that I’ll like it more and look more like myself.
This stylist did Benjamin’s hair a few months ago, and she did a great job, so I’m a little surprised that it went so badly. I think, first and foremost, I’m getting older. I don’t mean that I’m “old”, but this stylist is probably at least 10 years younger than I am. To her, I am pretty old. I have two kids, I’m married. Her major pastimes (I asked) are going out and partying. She probably doesn’t see anything wrong with a 35 year old mother of two looking old and frumpy. I’m sure she thought it’s what I should look like.
It’s amazing how much of a cloud it has put over me to have a bad hair day. I’ve found myself irritable and grumpy since getting out of the salon. I finally gave up and pulled my hair back to at least get it out of my way (and now it doesn’t look or feel so fluffy). I was expecting to come out of my appointment feeling cute and, at worst, lamenting that I probably wouldn’t be able to make it look as nice myself.
Sigh. Another Austrian challenge: find a new hair salon. On the plus side, it’s actually refreshing to have a bad experience that doesn’t seem to come from a language or cultural barrier. This is a “normal” problem, that I could just as easily have at home (but have just been lucky enough not to have ever experienced). Bad hair is bad hair, even in Austria.