Is there such a thing as a hairdressing escort? Cos if there is – I NEED one. I need someone to come along to the hairdresser with me, stay with me till the end of the event, and make sure I leave that place feeling satisfied!
I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t seem to nail getting the actual cut I go in there asking for.
I broke up with my hairdresser
My last long-term hairdressing relationship ended badly. I went in—baby capsule in tow—asking for what was essentially a trim – just a cut that would leave my hair long enough to put into the requisite new mummy ponytail.
Well, he got talking about how he was about to start a course in real estate (should have been my red flag right there) and he chopped right across the back of my head at the nape of my neck. Bye-bye ponytail.
“Well I can’t put it back on!”
… he said all defensively when I reminded him I wanted to keep it long. His fix was to just trim the next couple of layers above that so they were long enough to put in a ponytail … and then act like that was his plan all along.
Yup, a dual layer cut from the 80s was his plan. And then he charged me. FULL PRICE. That was the end of the relationship.
My name is Deborah and I’m a hairdressing tart
So now, part of the problem is that I’m a hairdressing tart. I have been ever since the break-up.
I have been tarting around, slipping in and out of hairdresser relationships, looking for THE ONE.
The event cut
Another part of the problem is that I go for the event cut. I’m way too disorganised and lazy to stick to a six-weekly regime. I just book my cuts around events.
So if I have a special function to go to, I book in a haircut for the day before. This, I know, is fraught with danger.
When I did this for one of my cuts last year, I went in and asked for a repeat of the cut I’d been adopting for a while. A bit flicky-uppy at the ends, and layered in a little below my ears. I ended up with a Carol Brady. The worst of Carol Brady. Below the ears, above the ears … same-same according to that hairdresser.
I need help
And then last time I went in to get a cut because I was going out the following night, I realised that I just can’t keep doing this alone.
After my woeful Carol Brady cut, the trauma has seen me leaving it grow longer and longer, but I decided … on the spur of the moment while I was sitting there … to get a decent chop.
I asked for it to rest on my shoulders, still long enough to go in a ponytail, a bit longer at the front, wedged in a little at the back, and a bit of a cut-in one side below my ear. Below my ear was reiterated several times.
I ended up with a bob. Not a sassy little Lara Bingle bob. A Ruth-Cracknell-on-Mother-and-Son bob. How the hell did that even happen? Oh it was below my ear alright. All of it. Just below my ear. I look fabulous! For an eighty-year-old!
Did I stand up for myself?
And did I say anything? Did I protest and say no that wasn’t what I asked for?
Did I say this is about four inches shorter than where I pointed to? Did I say the back is barely a millimetre shorter than the front? Did I say – “you call that a wedge?”
No, none of these things. I said nothing.
Did I smile and nod when she asked me if I liked it? Yes. Yes I did.
So now I’ll have to tart myself around somewhere else, because this hairdresser now thinks I love a good old Ruth Cracknell bob.
Who has a great hairdresser in Brisbane? Can anyone escort and translate for me?