I really don’t like to go to the salon. I did, sort of. A long (long) time ago. Generally, though, it’s just a measure of pain.
In the past 10 years I’ve gone from my natural curls to relaxed, and now back to my natural curls. I like both. Having curls is cheaper, though, and easier to manage. I can still, if I want to, flat-iron my hair. As it is when I go to get my hair relaxed it doesn’t attain the amount of “relaxation” that I would like. It is stubborn. Very difficult to get the curl out of. I usually go home with chemical burns up and down my scalp, and sometimes my ears, and a gaping hole in my bank account.
Which leads me to wonder why I buy into the process.
My last relaxer was sometime last year, I think. Maybe longer. My new curly growth is at a place where I feel like I can do a (semi) “big chop” (cutting off all chemically treated hair, leaving the natural, new growth) without having a mini-fro. I’ve taken some off on my own here at home, but I’m starting to feel like I’m wearing the Emperor’s New Clothes on my head and I’m the only one who thinks I look sort of OK. It was time. I was sensitive, though, to the fact that all of my boys twist their face in fear when I’ve threatened to cut my hair really short.
I went to my posts from a few years back to see if I could scrounge up a picture to bring with me to this new salon and found my post, Why I Hate to Get My Hair Cut. That was my first adult curly cut with a “Master Designer” at an expensive salon. This sums it up:
The Master looked like any other stylist. I don’t know if I expected her shears and supplies to be holstered to her belt with a spotlight for a backdrop, or what. But the moment she took my hair in her hands I knew. She ain’t never touched hair like mine before.
Part II shows a picture of the massacre that took place that day. It doesn’t help my salon aversion. Finally, there is the pro bono cut I received and was happy with. Based on my satisfaction with that cut, I continued to see the stylist that fixed my hair for the past 5 years, getting my hair relaxed and cut. But still, I’m not a salon person. The less time (and money) I have to spend there, the better. I have no standing appointment and I generally don’t really look forward to going there. I think it boils down to not feeling like anyone really understands and/or is capable of doing my hair. Once in a blue moon I leave and am happy. The rest of the times I hold my tears back, waiting to get out, go home, and wash my hair.
Sadly, my final appointment with that stylist ended on a bad note. I’ll try to keep it simple. I had an appointment. They called to move it to a different time slot. I said that was fine, as long as there was enough time to do my hair (this is based on past appointments and seeming to “run out of time” quite often). They assured me there was, and I should have known they were mistaken. I went in to get my hair cut and it was entirely rushed. I felt like I was at a cheap-o salon where they treat you like meat. After my trim, my hair was nice and man-handled. Anyone who is curly know you really can’t style half dry, disheveled hair into anything pleasing to look at. So there I sat, waiting for her to re-wet me or blow it out and she asked if I wanted it in a braid before I left. “Uh, no, I want it blowed out.” Duh. I’m paying you up the wazoo to cut and style, so… yeah. Style it. She looked to the waiting room and said, “Honey, my next client is here, I don’t have time for that.”
I left with my hair looking like a child was playing Pretend Salon Day all up in it. It was another instance where I thought I was either going to cry myself, or make someone else cry from my wrath. Neither was appealing. Halfway home I called and complained (cried) to the receptionist, too embarrassed and dumbstruck to have made my feelings known on the spot. Leaving the salon looking gawjuss is a confidence-booster, leaving worse than when you walked in has the opposite effect. Thankfully the receptionist totally understood and said she could understand my misery. In the end, they sent me a gift card for half of the service price, called and left and apologetic email, and told me they hoped I’d return.
I will not return, thankyouverymuch. I felt decent about my relationship with my stylist, but do not feel valued as a customer. I won’t be back.
Hence my search for a new place to chop my locks. I found a Salon Finder through a site I frequent. The place I chose had good reviews. They got me an appointment within 24 hours.
Wish me well.
I’ma tell you straight up, my hair isn’t a big fan of gel. So I was scared. But I needed something with a little hold. In my quest to simplify, I haven’t been purchasing much in the ways of styling products, and have been using up what I have on the boys. So, the IC Gel was it.
products, so I was close to being sold anyway. Strap that in with a dose of fatigue and out comes the white flag of surrender. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time (or vice versa if I end up hating this product). My eyes were glued on the screen as the Carol’s Daughter representative talked, the HSN lady talked, they took a call, they showed hair models, and I dialed like a robot, beep-beep-beep, pressing all the right numbers until I was told my order was complete. The receiver went back on my princess phone, I beat myself up a bit mentally for being such easy prey, shrugged, and continued flipping through the channels.
