Here is me on Friday after getting my first Brazilian haircut:
Yeah, that’s right. That’s me looking all good and put together and, dare I say absolutely gorgeous? Oh–I dared. I said it.
But it’s true. A woman knows when she looks good, even if it’s only for herself. And indeed, I looked damn good for myself on Friday, especially in that moment in the bathroom when I snapped this picture. “I am one classy girl,” I thought to myself. “One classy girl.”
I got my haircut with my friend Mandy who recommended I go to this place around the corner from my building. She made her appointment for a cut and color to begin fifteen minutes before mine on Friday afternoon and then actually didn’t even get her hair washed until almost two hours after I did. But that’s a story for another time.
Diego, a twenty-four year old tall gay guy, cut my hair and dyed it. He spoke a little English, but aparantly didn’t have the words in his vocabulary for him to understand: “Please, don’t layer it so much that I look like a member of an early 90’s hair band when I have to style it myself.”
Because the truth is, a girl’s hair looks SO good when she leaves the salon, but when it comes down to a Monday morning before work and she has to take care of it on her own, forgetaboutit.
I’m okay with the bangs. I haven’t had them since middle school, but now I guess since I’m back in it, they work. I’m great with the color…my other color was faded and gross. Take another look at the picture. See how smooth my whole head is? See how no hair, except for the hair that’s supposed to, sticks out, or curls up, or flips out? It was perfect Friday. And it was perfect on Saturday, too, because I didn’t wash it all day so it kept its salon style, albeit just a bit more limp.
And then there was Sunday. The First Wash. I knew Diego hadn’t used any product on my hair other than shampoo and conditioner, so I was psyched when he styled it on Friday. (Sweet! I can totally do this on my own and I don’t need to spend a million hours styling it or a million dollars on the products I need to style it! Awesome!)
I know. I’m just as shocked as you are. Maybe you’re amused that I’ve compared myself to a late 80’s, early 90’s rock star man. I am too. I would love to have compared myself to Selma Hayek on a bad hair day, or Penelope Cruz, or I mean, even Sigourney Weaver, for crying out loud. But no. The truth of the matter is, when I looked at myself in the mirror after styling my new haircut for the first time, my first thought was this:
“Jesus Christ. I am Axl Rose.” No matter how hard I tried to pull at my hair, fix it up, and style it with product, I couldn’t escape from looking like Axl Rose and his terrible, terrible stringy, layered hair.
So now I heart the ponytail. It swings, it’s girly, it’s out of my face when I am working…Plus it’s springtime; it’s getting warmer outside. Who wants stringy sweaty hair in their face all the time?
Yep. Rockin’ the ponytail. A hundred and nine dollars for exactly what I had been doing already. Awesome.