Yes, it happened to me. Despite my casual comments of, “oh, hair! It grows back!”
Despite cheerful memories of a long-ago roommate crying in the bathroom over too short bangs.
Despite my diligent preparation which included trolling the internet and Pinterest for the perfect haircut.
See, this was going to be a special hair cut. My coming out hair cut, as it were.
I’ve been in a funk for many months. The fall and winter were not kind seasons in KlineLand and drama ensued. I sunk lower and lower and lower. Then I started feeling better.
And my long hair just wasn’t cutting it. I needed something with spunk and spark! Something fun and perky!
What did I get? Old lady short. Yep, I ended up with the same haircut I had a year ago when I cut off all my color. Except this time there was no reason behind the shearing. Except for stylist…ineptitude?!
The nearsighted are entirely at the mercy of their stylist. When those glasses come off, we are just a mere blur in the mirror. We trust in God and the one wielding the scissors to do us good.
For me, it’s usually a good thing. This time: not so much.
So what did I do when it was over and I was presented with the shock of my shorn scalp? I smiled politely, muttered something about it being awfully short, agreed that the back was indeed “cute,” let myself be lured into making a follow-up appointment in six weeks and left. To cry in the van, tugging at my short hair, much like that long ago roommate. [FYI I didn’t actually cry. It’s hair, after all. But I did stare at myself in the mirror for several moments muttering, “what the f***?” Over and over.]
I saw no graceful way to communicate my dismay at the 1-inch pieces of hair on my head. It was over. Done. The hair can’t be glued back on. I smiled, paid, left, and beat myself up for not telling her the hair cut sucked. I certainly didn’t brandish the picture in her face while shrieking, “where’s the long top and wispy nape?!” Oh, in my mind I did.
What I will do is not return to her as my stylist. And since the salon seems to be close knit, I probably can’t return to the salon either. Even though there are hair stylists there who have done me well in the past.
This is where my inner good girl screws me over every time. I state my dismay or question something, and the person on the other end gets upset, defensive. I end up apologizing for upsetting them and feeling bad for causing trouble. It even happened recently here on my own blog! The person in the comments called me “jaded” and I folded like a bad poker hand!
Apparently, as my hair grows back I need to also grow a spine. Because I smile and walk away, and passive aggressively write blog posts and refuse to return to her for another hair cut. Instead of politely letting her know I wasn’t pleased with the results.
What would you do? How would you handle this situation? Would you say something? Do you really think saying something would help? Advice please!