By CYNTHIA PIERCE
Changing hairdressers is like changing husbands. Okay, not quite. How about – changing hairdressers is like changing cars. Hmm, I’ll keep working on an analogy that works…
Anyway, I had just started to get comfortable with yet another new hairdresser and even started to consider her to be a friend, when she decided to up and move salons. As tempting as it was to drive for 50 minutes just to get my hair done each month, I knew it wasn’t realistic.
It was a difficult time. See, it IS like changing husbands. And like 39% of Aussie women, I was experiencing major hair envy, according to some decade-long research by Pantene.
I’d walked past a new hair salon at my local shopping centre several times. It looked shiny and new. I thought I’d give it a try. How hard is it to just cut my hair?
I have brown, mid-length hair with long layers. I don’t colour my hair and it’s reasonably healthy. How badly could they stuff it up? After stalling for as long as possible I booked an appointment. My 20-year high school reunion was coming up that weekend and I had to get a haircut. I just had to.
I walked in and was greeted by a really lovely-looking woman around my age. We clicked straight away and had one of those life-changing conversations about children, family, finances and friends, all while she was chopping and hacking into my hair.
I walked out feeling amazing and warm and fuzzy towards my new hairdresser. It wasn’t until I arrived home that I took a good look at what she’d done to me. She’d cut off at least two inches, had gotten rid of lots of my layers and had left me with a short, choppy fringe.
What the hell?
I was devastated. I was ruined. I arrived at work the next day with my weird fringe sticking up and as my work colleagues struggled to compliment me, I coldly explained that I hoped my new hairdresser, whom I would never visit again, would have a terrible accident.