Friday 15 February 2008

Roots


I badly need to get my hair done. It's gotten to the state where my hair is now three tone, black/grey (roots) and blonde (split ends).

I look like an aging 1980s rap star.

Only one problem. I'm scared of the hairdressers.

Not the hairdressers themselves, but the actual experience of going. It always goes the same disastrous way-
In Twenty Steps...

1. I turn up with a bunch of celebrity hair pics in hand and the dream of a barnet that will make me the sheeny groomed woman I long to be.

2. Am then sat down by scary alpha stylist, dressed in plasticy coat and subjected to indepth follicle analysic ie " it has a distinct straw like quality", " isn't it strange how its fine, yet frizzy all at the same time" and "your hair is shit".

3. In my vulnerable state I agree to go for an expensive full head of highlight in sumptuous gold and luxurious caramel, and delicate honey.

4. I am offered a glass of cheap white wine (it aint all bad).

5. I neck the cheap white wine and ask for another. Please.

6. The dye is slapped on, I 'read' a myriad of hair magazines and desperately try to avoid thru-mirror eye contact with scary alpha stylist.

7. Masterplan doesnt work and scary alpha stylist asks me if I'm going on holiday.

8. I answer "No" forlornly and hate scary alpha stylist for reminding me that I can't afford a holiday because I'm skint and (by train of thought) that my bikini no longer fits.

9. Am then shoved under space age hairdryer and chargrilled.

10. Junior stylist invites me to the sinks and washes out the dye. I think about statistics on the amount of strokes caused by neck over sink injuries.

11. I take the stylist chair again, and realise that sumptous gold, luxurious caramel and and delicate honey, are infact, straw yellow, bright orange and poo brown.

12. Console myself with the fact that my hair is wet and the colours will be better once it is dry.

13. Number 12 turns out not to be the case. Not at all.

14. SAS and myself decide on a trim, with a feathered diagonal fringe to flatter my round face.

15. SAS ignores number 14 and gives me a bob with a blunt fringe.

16. My head resembles a bowling ball wearing an orange 'Friar Tuck' style wig.

17. I try not to cry.

18. Scary alpha stylist shows me the back. I feel gutless as I mew "oooh, the cut is soo nice!" At this point I hate everyone, including myself.

19. I pay the extortionate fee, go into a tipping frenzy and run out of the salon doors, sobbing.

20. I arrive home in tears, put on a hat and vow that from now on, I will just do it myself

11 comments:

Roland Hulme said...

That picture with the guy with the ginger 'fro looks alarmingly like me.

I get my missus to cut my hair.

1: I have hair like a sheep/bush and cutting it involves no special skills beyond switiching on a pair of clippers.
2: I'm a cheap scot.

BB said...

Just tried to comment and Blogger went funny :(

I love this post - it's really funny as I dislike the hairdresser for the same reasons. I think my fear stems from when I was twelve, and I wanted my longish, boring hair cut into a regular bob. Like, say, Stephanie from Lazytown, only not bubblegum pink.

Anyway, Mum took me to the local salon and told the stylish wehat I wanted (a bob, no shorter than chin length) and she cut it - only when I looked in the mirror later, I was TOTALLY MORTIFIED. She'd cut my hair not into a bob but into some monstrosity with short layers - kind of like older women tend to have theirs. I mean, it wasn't even cute/trendy short. It was GOD-AWFUL short.

Seriously, I cried for a week afterwards.

Have never fully trusted a hairdresser since.

BB said...

*Should be 'told the stylist what I wanted.'

I'm not drunk, I swear.

Kirsty Novelicious said...

Roland, It looks nowt like you. Although the comment had me in stiches. Man-type hair is easy!

BB, thanks for such a great comment. It's true, no matter what you discuss with the stylist, it always seems that you're the one they want to experiment with. I've had the old lady do too. It was kind of a silvery blonde and feathered at the neck. I had to use a heated roller brush for about a month.

Roland Hulme said...

Hey Kirsty! I think you're meant to leave a comment response on the same post if it's connected to what got written earlier. So if you wanted to write: 'Away with yer ginger bonce' you'd write it here, in response to your own post.

But it's generally polite to go to your commenter's blogs and write something in response to their waffle. I only do that if there's is any good (like yours is.)

So do we get pics of the new hair do?

Kirsty Novelicious said...

Thanks Roland,
I comment on people's blogs anyway, if it's interesting!
So is it polite to comment on blogs of which you don't know the person? And do you tell them if you link them?

There is no hairdo, that all comes from past experience, I'm too scared to go!!
Would do it myself, only problem is it tends to turn yellow/green!

PrincessPolly said...

I haven't been to the hairdressers in over ten years . . . and it's pretty much for the reasons listed in this blog! So true and sooo funny!

BB said...

Ten years, Polly? Do you cut yours yourself or something? (I tried to cut my fringe once. Oh Jesus.)

I still visit the salon. Reluctantly. But hold it off as long as possible.

Unknown said...

Thanks for the blogger help - there's me looking in Settings, doh.

I replied to BB on Anything Goes and how I believe career officer's go to Demoralising School. How was the uni course of your choice ? I think when we are young we believe others know what's best... not always right though.

Anonymous said...

This was real funny! (although I'm not sure whether to laugh because of this post, or cry because you felt like a bowling ball)

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