My hair grew out by September for my brother Clayton's wedding. Thank God. I felt feminine again. The black dye wore off and the sun allowed for my natural highlights to prominently peak through. With the curling iron, I flipped the ends of my hair outward. Although I loved this look, there was an innocense that I wasn't sure about. After all, I'm not a little girl...and I'm single. Should I have a little more sex appeal? When I studied Jean Shrimpton for one of the inspirational icon Monday posts, I discovered we had the same hair and found her to be incredibly sexy. The cut was therefore a keeper.
A couple of weeks ago, I made an appointment for a trim. Maybe half an inch off or so. I hadn't cut it since June and by the beginning of February, the ends were screaming that a trim was past due. Not wanting to spend too much on a trim, I decided to go to another salon I found on Yelp.com. The reviews said it would cost $45...not so bad for L.A. Walking in, I felt like I was in a demented Candy Land, however. Bright pink skulls, colored spike headbands for sale, and pink and blue hair extentions being put on the first chair's customer. From behind a wall out sprung my hairdresser. "Are you scared?" he asked. "Noooo..." I was though. Not scared for my life, but rather scared for my dead hair that I didn't want to look as dead as he looked. He was a vampire. A self-professed one. All black, piercings in every place imaginable, arse grazing dreads, a buret that didn't quite fit and so many spikes that I feared possibly being stabbed in the eye.
The shampoo was the longest shampoo massage I had ever received at a salon and thought that maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I was anticipating. The chat in the chair showed my initial feelings were correct though. After multiple comments about S&M, talk about how exhausted he was from partying all week, and the several times he needed to take a break because he was getting "too hot and bothered" while drying my hair--my thin short hair mind you--all made me wonder if I had made the right choice to sit down and give this vampire guy a chance. He kept telling me I was "a white light" and that he felt I was "radiating sunshine" onto his dark soul. These were the only comments that seemed genuine...slightly uncomfortable for him, but genuine.This made me wonder if maybe he needed some light in his life that day and if I had to sacrifice my dead hair to give that to him, then maybe that was my day's purpose. Of course when he asked me out, I knew that my kindness wasn't going beyond this salon. "I think we're just very different people," I said. What else could I say? He's a vampire and I'm not in anyway trying to redo the Twilight saga.
When my hair was all blow dried and styled, it was obvious I didn't get the trim I had come in for. I looked like a wavy light brown haired Joan Jett. The Runaway's Joan Jett. Marshall the vampire's dream girl. All I could do was thank him, pay the fee at the front desk which was twice what Yelp quoted and leave. Sure I could be upset but in the grand scheme of things it's just hair. Dead hair that will grow back. Since my hair takes a ridiculous amount of time to grow back, I will just have to embrace it. The haircut and my inner seventies rockstar.
Dorothy Hamil (Ice skating sweetheart of the 1970's) and I share the bowl cut:
Jean Shrimpton (British model of the 1960's) and I share the mod flip:
Joan Jett (1970's rock star) and I share a shag cut: