|
|
Lisa's |
|
|
|
GET OVER HAIR! Very young children are more perceptive than the
average adult and I can prove it by my next statement:
They dread their first haircuts. Protests
are demonstrated by throwing temper tantrums that are basically ignored,
nonetheless. Their inherent fears
should not be taken lightly; reluctance often speaks the truth.
Of all the times I’ve visited beauty parlors over the course of my
life, I can count on one hand how many of the haircuts were categorized as
successful. And let’s just say a
few fingers are unsurprisingly left over unaccounted for.
Fashionable hairstyles are more than desirable;
they’re stubbornly demanded. Sure,
I’d like to parade around with the latest fad balanced, or better yet,
plastered around my head. However,
using my brain, I finally know I can’t. In
the past, hopeful was the adjective that best described me each time I climbed
into the transformation chair. Although
it was a gamble in terms of what metamorphosis I’d undergo, I hopped up for
the procedure. Why is it that
hairdressers ask what we would like done to our tresses and then do whatever
they darn well please anyway? Words
of wisdom: Bring along a ruler to
your next scheduled appointment. Show
your hair stylist what an inch is in terms of concrete measurement and not
anyone’s wild guess. My hair is naturally curly; therefore, when a forehead
curtained with bangs was the “in” look, I used to blow dry my strands as
straight as I could for the proper effect.
The hair choppers never listened when I begged them to trim my bangs one
inch longer than my eyebrows. Time
and time again I’d stomp out of various shops with my bangs barely touching my
brows…and that was when pulling them straight down. Letting go, they shrunk at least half an inch.
Forget New York summers with high humidity; I had bad hair months, not
days. Shampoo commercials added
insult to injury by showing women with straight, manageable, silky hair, due to
certain products. I must have tried
almost every one advertised before it dawned upon me that I didn’t have the
appropriate raw material. Beauticians never failed to suggest the “perfect”
conditioners for my hair type. So,
they were roughly twenty dollars per bottle, but wasn’t my hair worth it? Quite frankly: No.
Those days of attempting to bribe my hair are over and
done with. As is all the wasteful
time I put into straightening techniques with the blow dryer and teasing my
crowning glory to get it as tall as I physically could, adding three inches to
my height with the help of sticky hairspray.
I’ve found that the less I fuss with my hair the more it seems to
cooperate. And reducing the
importance I give to its final outcome produces a much better finished product. I suppose it’s all a matter of perspective.
I’ve noticed that I no longer have bad hair months or even bad hair
days. Well, maybe a few here and
there. My curly mane gets no more
airtime than what it needs to appear neat and presentable.
I refuse to treat it as a stress factor these days.
As far as professional haircuts are concerned, I stopped going. Every few months I take half an inch off the bottom to rid
myself of dead ends. And I usually
do a pretty good job, in spite of the one occasion I offered to trim my best
friend’s hair and she accepted; we were only in junior high school then and
she has forgiven me long since. After
all, we’re still pals. Besides,
it is often said that the difference between a good haircut and a bad one is two
weeks. Yeah, right.
|
