I have hair issues. I freely admit it. As a surly teenager, I took every opportunity to hide behind it. I wish I had a nickel for every time my mother had to tell me, “Get your hair out of your face.” My father called me Cousin It.
I kept my hair long way past my prime. I was inching towards my mid 30′s before I finally decided I was too long in the tooth to be Rapunzel. Slowly but surely, by hair began inching its way up to my shoulders. And there it stayed, in the same boring style for many years.
When I had my CAbi makeover early last year, I trusted the French man in the beret to give me some layers. Layers were something I rarely entrusted to anyone. Because I have very very thick broom-like hair that takes on a whole zip code in humidity.
Layers are not your friend when you have hair like that.
But as it turned out, subtle layers were my friend and at last I had a haircut that made me feel CUTE. And really, at this stage of the game, cute is all I can hope for.
Alas my hair once more grew out, and I had not the resources to fly to Los Angeles to hunt down the French man in the beret.
I let my hair grow back out to my shoulders and had the layers cut blunt. Which works well when you rely on a pony tail holder as your only styling option.
Then earlier this year I attended a girl’s night out at a salon. The idea is to introduce a bunch of women to the stylists at a salon that is seeking to expand their business. Well, there was wine involved. Not that I drank any, but I did get into the spirit of the evening and allowed a stylist to cut my hair INTO LAYERS.
It was an even better cut THAN THE FRENCHMAN. My joy knew no bounds. At long last, I’d found someone who understood the complexities of my hair. The weird kinks and bends, the sheer volume, the propensity to pull a Rosanna Rosannadanna in the rain.
Months past, and I was greatly in need of a trim. I knew where to go. I went back to my new stylist and explained what she had done the first time. She nodded knowingly. Not too many layers, not too short.
As she cut, it did occur to me, this seems a wee bit shorter. But she had gotten me talking about homeschooling and sometimes I go off on a tangent. I wasn’t really looking at my hair. I was instead mesmerized by a little girl of about 9 strutting around the salon wearing stilettos while getting her hair died purple.
I glanced over at my own 10 year old sitting nearby, wearing shorts, t-shirt, long blonde pig tails, and sneakers. Happily playing Scrabble on my iPhone. I was grateful that I have a little girl who has no qualms about staying a little girl. For now.
My attention returned to my own mirror. I heard myself gasp, “Oh my, it is so short.” The stylist continued cutting more layers. I wanted to yell STOP, but was speechless. I’m not the type who confronts. I like to hope for the best. Certain that I would love my hair when I got it home and messed around with it for myself.
Didn’t happen. I now officially hate it. I know I should have said something, and really, I wish it was in my genetic makeup to speak up for myself. I have no problem speaking up when someone crosses my children, but I tend to remain silent when it comes to matters of me.
Why is that? Did I not want to hurt her feelings? I frustrate myself.
When I walked in the door, Fiddledaddy had the good sense to tell me I was cute. Jensen took one look at me and said, “Mommy, you don’t look familiar to me.”
I don’t look familiar to me either. I’ll post a picture when I get up the nerve. But likely there will have to be a cocktail involved. It will grow. And it’s probably not all that bad. And it’s only hair, for crying out loud. It’s not like I broke a femur.
I headed to the bathroom to see what I could do with it and as I looked out the window, I noticed that it was beginning to rain. I resigned myself to looking like a dandelion for the rest of the hurricane season day.
If you’ve ever had a bad haircut, did you have the nerve to say anything at the salon?
{ 24 comments }
Oh no! And, oh no, I did not. Sadly… However, I did find that 1) your true friends and husband – if he knows what’s in his best interest- will lie to you and 2)soft head bands became my new best friends.
That would be me…just sit there and not say a word. But don’t ever mess with my kids…I hear ya. And then go home and tell myself I will NEVER get another haircut again. Which, I do, but at a different salon.
I have the same hair texture as you do. Humidity is NOT our best friend. Speaking of which, in NY we are having 90 and humid this week. My only sanity is my CHI flat iron followed by a good shellacking with Frizz Ease! It ain’t easy looking beautiful – hahaha We moved to the country in March and are surrounded by close to 20 Amish families. Wonderful neighbors by the way. I sometimes think it must be nice to just not have to worry about your outer appearance. Anyways – your are right, your hair will grow back, it always does
Yes I’ve had a bad haircut and no I didn’t say anything. When you get home and your husband says “what did you do to your hair?” you KNOW it’s bad!
I had 2 weeks before my 20th college reunion. I let it grow out (hoping that would help)a little and scheduled an appointment at a fancy salon to have it fixed as much the stylist could.
Unfortunately, only enough to tell the lady I didn’t want her to blow dry it. I am sure she could tell I was NOT happy tho.
Yes, I had a hair cut once by someone with a purple streak in her own hair and didn’t say a word. It looked like a mans cut and took 9 months to grow out because it grows so just so slow. Now my neice cuts my hair and she does a great job(Plus she’s family) but oh my was I sad for a long time. It will grow back, really it will. Hats were my best friend and I hate hats but it was winter in NH so I could get away with it.
Been there, done that, Wore the T-shirt over my head for weeks. It’s that feeling of “well, it has to all be the same now…” when the first really “too short” chopslicerazringwhateveryouwanttocallit happens.
Yep.
But. I am your friend. And you value honesty.
So.
I think that if we all still love you despite that ‘other’ pictire that is out there foreverandeveramenontheinterweb of you (and you KNOW of which I speak), then surely we can see the new style that I am sure you are simply rockin’.
Remember, familiarity makes the heart grow fonder.
And the difference between a bad haircut and a good one, is two short weeks.
♥ ♥
Yes; when the hairdresser says “Oops,” you know it isn’t going to be good.
But I didn’t drop dead, and it did grow back. And I bet you do look cute!
Too many times I have had a haircut that I didn’t like. But it only was made worse when my father, trying to be kind, would say: “Did you want it like that?”
I am with you on the dandelion look since I have thick, wavy/curly hair. When flatirons came onto the scene I was beyond giddy…ecstatic, even.
Last year I decided that I was old enough not to have long hair, and over the course of several months it got shorter and shorter. I like it, but then I’ve loved the guy who cuts my hair since I was in college.
However. In my little hometown, our choice of hairstylists was limited to the ladies at the “beauty shop” who knew one style, and it was for the little blue-haired ladies, and a young girl. When I was in eighth grade, we gave the young girl a chance, and she cut my chin length hair into an unasked for very short style. WITH A RAZOR. Talk about a dandelion. Being a youngster, I didn’t say anything, but I think all my tears said enough. I asked my mother to tell everyone I had some horrible illness and keep me home from school for six months.
No! I am JUST like you on this one. My stylist parts my hair on the wrong side EVERY DANG TIME she cuts my hair and I dont’ say a word. Is there a club for wusses like us?
I’ve had my share of bad cuts, and NEVER said anything to the stylist. Are you kidding? I had a gift certificate to a spa salon and got the best hair cut I’ve ever had. I’ve gone back twice now (figuring to balance the cost my old stylist was much further away, I started coloring my hair myself, and I go much longer between cuts…I can justify ANYTHING.) Then my friend told me the old stylist was asking about me. I feel like I’ve been cheating on her! Why? Like you said, it’s just hair.
Not sure when the “bad haircut” happened, but I was going to tell you on Saturday night that I thought your hair looked great!
Nope. I am just like you. In fact, I’ve been getting so bored, and thinking about trying somewhere else, but I just can’t bear it because of the loyalty to my current person. She is lovely, and I so enjoy her, but at the age of 34, I finally feel brave enough for some kind of rainbow hair (I am not kidding), and I can’t leave her for someone who will do it. Even though I’m a grown up.
I demand a picture!! I feel certain that it is not nearly as bad as you think. I bet it’s darling. Really. I think it’s just unfamiliar. I’ve had my hair so many different lengths through my life that nothing feels unfamiliar anymore. And yes, it really will grow. And probably in about a week or so, you’ll figure it out and suddenly love it!
Both of my boys just got a bad cut, and I said nothing. I tried to explain to my husband the intricacies of womanhood and how we’d rather move to a different time zone versus tell someone they did a bad job. In other news, I went back to the stylist the next day and apologized profusely for miscommunicating and then paid her a bit more to fix my boys’ cuts. Aaarrrgghhh!
Oh, girl. I tell this story all the time but it bears repeating as a cautionary tale: After I had my twins, I went to my “guy” for a haircut, a fresh look. He promised me Meg Ryan and since he is of the sort that reads People magazine regularly, I trusted him. Well, he got his celebrities confused and gave me a Sharon Stone. Horrors. It took me TWO YEARS for my hair to fully recover, during which time I was slightly pudgy and looked like my mother. Also, my friend saw me and warned her hubby. Unfortunately, when he saw me he said, “Oh, it doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would.” So, you know, there’s that to live down. The lesson is: Don’t do any crazy haircuts when you’re postpartum. And also: point to a picture so you’re all on the same page regarding which celebrity you wish to emulate. Gah.
I don’t sweat a cut so much, but a color I do, and I have had to say something. And … since I’ve been with “my girl” for years, it was harder, for me, to do than had she been a new stylist. Turns out, she admitted, when I went back two days later, that she was a little off that day and we both realized, in a minute, that it wouldn’t change our friendship and more importantly, my ability to get “Georgia sunshine” treatments on a regular basis. She just needs to pay a little more attention and I just need to accept that I am no longer a toe-head and the color I am hoping to achieve is not found in nature.
I just had a terrible styling dilemma. TERRIBLE! In Georgia, my hair is naturally curly. I do nothing and get compliments galore, which I eat up like a tick on a fat dog. My hair literally turned from bone straight to curly, curly, the minute we moved here. I was forty at the time, and assumed it was hormones.
I just returned to Georgia last week from a trip home to New Hampshire. I had just had my roots done, prior to the trip, and felt fairly sure that my potential would be realized wherever I went, because I was about as cute as I get! However, after my first shower, I couldn’t get my hair to do anything, anything at all. Fortunately, just before I closed my luggage, I threw a ten year old curling brush (that I had stopped using when we moved to Georgia!) into the bag for those nights when I wanted to look extra special.
Long story short. I literally had to curl my hair every day. Because I rarely use a styling tool, I overworked my hair to the point of “I can’t leave the hotel room.” I won’t leave the hotel room…” Day one I looked liked Dolly Parton’s long lost love child, and it only went down hill from there, for the next two weeks…
Now that I’m back in Georgia, my hair is curly, curly, again, without me having to lift a lazy finger, and I am happy, happy, happy! (Although a little homesick…)
This too will pass. I promise…
Yes and I refused to pay for it! But I have had other bad haircuts when I didn’t say a word.
I started taking a picture of my hair after a good haircut with my phone. Then the next time I go I have an example.
I don’t say anything. But I don’t go back, either. The first time it happened, I TOLD her my hair processed quickly, and she fried it (back in the day of ‘body waves’). I looked like a brillo pad.
And last time I got my hair cut, I sorta knew it wasn’t what I asked for when she couldn’t make out my license number to write on the check…
Yep, it’s time to find another stylist, I think!
Nope. Have had many, many bad haircuts, and have never said anything. Luckily, my hair grows fast.
My favorite hair style is the pony tail, or the twist.
I read something that said older women should have shorter hair, claiming they weren’t willing to leave their “glory days” by holding onto the length. Phooey, it’s really to cover for all the bad hair stylists.
I had one awesome haircut. . .once. I’d love to see a repeat.
All of 8th grade I grew my hair long so it would look fabulous for high school. I was going to be attending an all girls catholic high school and wanted to fit in. A week before school this lady at my church who was a hairdresser offered to give me a trim and I took her up on it b/c her hair was beautiful. I got a picture of the hairstyle I wanted which was a bob (popular at the time) and went just past my shoulders. She gave me a layered boys cut that stopped at the nape of my neck. I laid on the couch and cried for 2 days. Since then I have a phobia of changing hairdressers.
I had a bad haircut once (probably more than once, but this one will go down in infamy)….two blessed days before senior pictures were taken (I broke the cardinal rule – no haircuts right before important days like senior pictures or weddings!). It made me paranoid for many, many years to do anythng ‘new’ with my hair. I still get a little nervous when I plunk my butt down in that chair. Post a piccie soon – I bet Fiddledaddy is right – it’s cute!
I do not like short hair on me. I think it goes back to my childhood when the only choices given to me were the Pixie, the Tenille, or the Dorothy Hamill. (Which to me looked like the same haircut with different names.)
When I was in my mid 20s I decided I really needed shorter hair. NOT short, just shorter. I explained to the lady I still wanted the length to be just past my shoulders.
I should have said something when I saw her cut above my shoulders, but like you I don’t like confrontation. So, I prayed for the best. Then, I almost had a heart attack when she said, please lower your head forward and she brought out the clippers. It was SHORT. I still kick myself that I actually paid for that haircut. I went home, cried, and prayed my hair would grow as fast as people said it did.
I still never contacted the salon to complain; I just never went back.
And I won’t bother to mention the haircut and perm my mother made me get the day before my high school graduation. Still have nightmares about that.
My bad days are complicated by the fact the my grown up stepdaughter is my stylist and in an effort to make nice…I was her guinea pig during her schooling. She is now a very good stylist, but determined to do my hair the way she wants it, not like I’d like it. She wants me to be hip. I don’t want to be hip. The last/biggest mistake was to let her give me highlights. I asked for lowlights in an effort to get rid of the gray. I’m not blonde. I’ve never been blonde. Have I said a word? No. I keep going back and letting her make it even blonder. I leave the house with the full intent of telling her I just don’t want it any more and come home with even more streaks. I so feel your pain. A cut will grow out quicker than these stripes.
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