Hair Trauma

I am getting my hair cut tomorrow. This fills me with more visceral dread than the thought of someone cutting my knee open with a scalpel and rearranging the innards. (Of course.. the fact that the orthopedic surgery is still some time in the unknowable hazy future while the salon appointment looms on my immediate horizon, an unavoidable juggernaut of change.)

I love my hair..

The last time I willingly placed my hair with full trust into a salonist's hands was July 3, 1986. It was a disaster.

Now, in the salonist's favor, the cut itself was actually quite stunning and well suited to my face and to the clothing I just so happened to be wearing that particular day. But it was *not* what I asked for, and when I got so upset that I broke into tears, the aftercare was hideous enough to leave devastating emotional scars. ... I asked for soft layers--I got punk jagged choppy layers. I had one and only one outfit that would go with my hair (the one I was wearing) and not enough budget to get new clothes to match my new hair.

I cried all weekend. (and as you can probably tell, I'm still complaining.)

I have, since then, only twice allowed a salonist near my hair. In 1996 I made the SERIOUS error of entrusting my haircut to a salonist in Redding, CA. .. I should have found a way to get to a salonist in San Francisco, even if it meant travelling by Greyhound. Apparently there are only two haircuts for womein in Redding.. one is the barrel-racing hairstyle, and the other is the over-fourty bob. Again, I was so upset, I cried for a full weekend and wore dark sunglasses for more than a week.

The second time, in March 2000, I had a salonist cut my hair specifically for a costume I was planning to wear. Despite the arguments of what was and was not possible, she did more or less what I asked and I got a quite suitable result. It was a good haircut that suited me well enough, but I did not feel heard and respected by the salonist, so I felt extremely lucky to have escaped disaster.

However! (not the salonist's fault: ) I will never again trust a box of dye that claims to be temporary. ("semi-permanent" was the actual wording) .. two years later the color break was still horribly visible.

That weekend, however, my hair was flaming sunset red. *flaming* ... trees were bursting into flame around me from the sheer radiance of this color alone. Stunning doesn't begin to describe it. That weekend (and for altogether too many months afterward) my hair wore me. My hair entered the room, my hair got talked to, my hair got hit on. I felt the most insane form of invisibility I could ever have imagined. I think I now have some small inkling of what it must be like to be a celebrity and have people interact with you as if you *were* the character you portray.

The worst part of all about that experience was the number of people asking "have you had that color from birth?"

I *swear!* that is the one question I never want to hear again!! Honestly! I just felt like smacking people!! I do not walk around asking people with glittery blue eyelids if they've had that color since birth! ARGH!!!

Okay, so the color looked good on me. I'm still never doing that again! Gack!

So tomorrow I have an appointment with a highly recommended stylist. If he didn't come so highly recommended by more than one of my closer friends, I would not be able to summon the bravery required for this serious act of trust and commitment.
I hope he is good at hand-holding because I will need every single bit of reassurance I can get.

Tomorrow (Friday.. which according to Blogger is actually today, but I get to sleep between now and then, so it's tomorrow in my book) at 2:00 Pacific I turn my very precious self-image, treasured hair, faith in humanity, sexiest attribute, emotional stability, etc, etc over to a Hair Stylist.

Please wish me luck.