First world pains; mountain out of a molehill; crazy issues; whatever you want to call it, getting a haircut is one of the worst ordeals I have to go through. I think, in my world, it’s pretty much on par with people’s more accepted fears of going to the dentist, or deadly phobia of spiders, which is probably why I only manage to make it to the hairdressers about twice a year.
It’s just such a cringing, dragged out, annoying exercise, that it makes me wonder why anybody could see it as a pampering activity at all!
I am Yasmin Jaunbocus, I hate the hairdressers, and this is why:
1. The night before you get your hair cut, you will look longingly at your Rapunzel like locks and wish you didn’t have to cut them off.
2. The night before you get a haircut, you trawl through pictures of famous celebrities pondering which hairstyle is achievable on your non celebrity head.
3. No matter which celebrity hairstyle you choose, your hair never looks like what you had in mind.
4. You have to make idle chit chat with your hair stylist. Most often, you have nothing in common with them and conversation becomes a torture.
5. You wash your hair out of politeness before having your hair washed at the hairdressers because you don’t want them to think you’re a dirty skank- even though it’s a waste of shampoo, water, time and the money since you’re paying them to wash your hair anyway.
6. No matter what big ideas you had in mind for your hair, when they ask you “so what are we doing today?” you buckle under the pressure and just say, “a trim”
7. The slightly awkward massage they give you when they wash your hair which stops just as you start to relax and enjoy it.
8. How you can never get your hair as shiny as when you leave the salon
9. The fact that its almost always raining when you have to make the journey from the salon back to the car- thus ruining your hair
10. The dread you have to swallow when they ask you if you like it. You nod reassuringly (reassuring yourself, as well as the hairdresser, since you’re too polite to say you hate it for fear of hurting their feelings- even though they don’t care AT ALL) and then you cry mourning the loss of the two inches you had trimmed once you return to the car, vowing never to return again.
Very rarely do I plan those trips to the hairdressers. They happen sporadically, spontaneously and to little real result. I always hate my hair afterwards, or say that definitely, next time, I’ll try something new.
I won’t. I’ll probably just get a trim a again.