The WORST thing about moving to a new city isn’t the fact that you have no idea where anything is, it’s not the lack of friends, it’s not even the fact that it takes a full year before you feel comfortable in your new location. Nope. I’m hear to tell you the WORST thing about relocating is finding a new hairdresser.
OK, maybe the rules can be bent if you’re a guy. Most guys could get their hair cut at Super Cuts and a fancy salon and come out looking exactly the same. But us ladies, we develop a relationship with our hairdresser. We begin to trust them, rely on them, love them. A good hairdresser can lift a bad mood, help you look your best for special events, and always keeps your ego highly inflated. A bad hairdresser though can maim you in a half hour and leave you sobbing in your car with a female mullet. No joke, it’s happened before.
I’ve got an appointment today and I’m terrified. I did my research. Picked a hip salon, wanted the girl with wild child curls just like myself, and OF COURSE she’s booked till next April. Which obviously means she’s wicked talented. Yes I just said ‘wicked.’ Lets all move on and forget it ever happened. Anyway, since I’ve been so terrified of finding a new hairdresser I’ve put it off to the point of serious hair damage, so I need my hair cut before it all just falls out from stress. And of course, putting it off this long means I’ve officially lost the option of being picky. Which blows.
Curly haired lady will not be cutting my hair today. Today the broad with an open schedule will be cutting my hair. I’m always wary of the person with an opening at the last minute… In my experience, if they aren’t booked it’s because they’re either A. straight out of beauty school and have spent the last year practicing on their dog and little sister, never any real people, or B. they have been around for a while, but because of the hundreds of clients they’ve disfigured now they have their afternoons open to snatch up desperate clients like myself.
Pictures to come. Either of smiles, or my new 80’s rocker power ballad mullet.
I’m crossing my fingers for smiles.