Saturday, September 15, 2007

I Think I May Need to Join Haircut Addicts Anonymous

I knew that I had a problem when about 10 years ago when I lived in Chicago and could not function in life unless I went to the hairdresser at least once every two weeks. During these visits I would confess my sins and it was a lot like going to church only with margaritas and head massages.

I didn’t give her any literal explanations of what I wanted my hair to look like, only short interpretive dance movements, the feeling of which was what I looking to capture with my hair. The first time I gave a description using movement, I extended my arms and made a fluid type gesture of a big jaw biting down on an invisible object. I was also thinking of the colour red when I did this.

She responded with a hearty laugh and said, “You really trip me out.”

But she proceeded to give me a cut which captured the essence of my movement perfectly. In addition, not knowing I was thinking of the colour red, she dyed bits of my hair red. This is when I knew, it was a match made in the beauty school heaven.

When I moved away from Chicago, the biggest loss was her. When I arrived in Australia, I immediately went on a search for a replacement. Every week I went to a new stylist, sat down in the chair, and told them to do whatever they wanted. No one got it right. The closest was a fat drag queen who after three sessions with me left the business entirely and became a bank teller.

So I decided to try the salon next door to the drag queen’s salon. I sat down, told her to do whatever she wanted and at the end of the appointment, she had captured it. Everything about me, my mood, my point in life, my job at that time, the season, the weather, my star sign… Everything was represented in my hair cut. I knew she was the one, and every three weeks for the past four years, I sat down in her chair and let her do her thing.

Last Saturday, I walked into the salon only to be told that she had resigned. I immediately went into a panic and started to hyperventilate. What was I going to do, I had waited 4 weeks for this appointment and I had a photo shoot the next day! They could fit me in for a cut, but I knew it just wasn’t going to be the same.

And it wasn’t. I sat there for 15 minutes while some guy with a waxed moustache talked about his sexual attraction to Hillary Clinton. I love Hillary but…. gross. On top of it all, he gave me a generic cut with no depth or texture. I took it personally.

I have been lost this entire week. But this morning I got a message on my mobile and it was my hairdresser with her new salon number. If you live within a 5 kilometre radius of my house, this morning you may have been awaken by a loud, high pitched- squeal of joy. That was me. Sorry.

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