My Hair, Part 1

Definitely not OK

I have an appointment today at 5pm for a haircut. The anxiety I have on the day of a hair appointment is at an all-time maximum. My hair, which I once despised for it's red color and out-of-control curliness, is one thing about my looks that I like, and it feels like a truly integral part of my personality. This leads to an all-consuming fear that should something go wrong I will have to take to my bed for 3-6 months until the damage is repaired. This fear comes from having had numerous bad haircuts, including:

The DIY haircut, 1984:
Performed by yours truly using my child-safe scissors in the upstairs bathroom of my parents house. Maybe because I couldn't see the mirror, maybe because I was 4, or maybe because I ended the cut early to watch "He-Man"; fate had it that this cut came out crooked and amateur-looking. Without a shampoo girl to sweep up the cuttings, it was also discovered by my parents, who despite my best lie-telling did not believe that I had been cutting a doll's hair.

The French Cut, 1992:
"Ar", the best - and only- stylist that Londonderry, VT has to offer, produced this 'do for me in the sixth grade. It included all the no-nos for curly hair, including short layers, bangs, and a name that dog groomers also use to describe a style for poodles. This cut took roughly 8 years to grow out, and kicked off the awkward "stage" that lasted for decades. Thanks, Ar.

The Curly Cut, 2002:
Ouidad is the single-named woman with beautiful hair who has achieved unparalleled success making curly-haired girls love their hair. She licences her name to various salons nation-wide who promise the "Ouidad" cut, a patented method of taming curly locks. The salon in Cambridge, MA stole $150 from me and approximated this cut closely enough so that I returned several more times. Each time it grew worse and upon looking closely at my bill the last time, I noticed that the name had changed to the "Curly Cut" and that Ouidad products (which I whole-heartedly endorse, btw) were no longer available at the salon. They dodged my inquiries about this suspicious turn of events, but after performing a thorough investigation (during which my Mom asked the REAL OUIDAD what had happened) I learned that they had been stripped of their Ouidad-ness for performing sub-par cuts. Adios.

The Bald-maker, 2004:
A very pregnant and foul-mouthed woman at another salon in Cambridge convinced me that "thinning" was the best bet for the out-of-control big hair. After she ran a razor through my hair I couldn't believe it - it felt so light! I could run my fingers through it! Months later I finally connected the frayed crown of fuzz I'd sprouted to her genius work and have never returned.

I live by something my Nana once told me - "Never get a cheap haircut or cheap shoes; they might feel fine in the shop but you'll soon regret it". Despite throwning piles of money into the maintenance of my hair I've had more bad cuts than good. This has changed during the past couple of years - I have been seeing Alex at Alfred Salon in Harvard Square, and she is honestly the best stylist I've been to. She is supportive of my indecision, does not take my blinding fear personally, and always sends me on my way with a cut I like. Should she ever move or leave her shop I will take a razor to my head and go Sinead-style bald, as risking more time in an abusive hair relationship is simply unhealthy for both my follicles and my psyche.