The Five Stages of The Hairdresser

It’s that time of year again. Wait, did I say ‘year’? I obviously mean it’s that time of the fashion-magazine-advised three month period between expensive haircuts. I definitely didn’t grow a chin-length bob down to below my shoulders without having it cut in ten months, even if that’s what I’m making it sound like. Because I am fancy and my life is all kinds of together. But anyway. As I was at the hairdresser (does anybody call it that anymore? I feel like it’s just me and my grandma.) this evening I finally managed to define the five stages of haircuts, for those who had wondered what, precisely, they were. Yet another of life’s true conundrums solved, right off the bat. You’re all so welcome. Although you might have to pull your finger out and solve something important yourself one day…

Stage 1: “I am 100% going to lie to you about my last haircut and my entire daily routine”

Because it just makes me sound better. You, lovely hairdresser, are inevitably gorgeous and glossy, and so are your friends, and the magazines you have easy access to. You probably have a shampoo monkey, and your towels are always clean. So excuse me if I tell you I use Kerastase instead of that bottle of my Dad’s Head and Shoulders I stole last time I visited my parents because I spent my ‘expensive shampoo’ money on three bottles of Asda fizzy rose. That is my life. And of course I don’t remember my last haircut, because it happened when I was drunk and decided I need a fringe because Cara Delevigne’s is amazing. Thank you for asking. Shall we get on now? My hair could really do with a wash.

Stage 2: Eyes closed or open?

Oh god oh god oh god. Awkwardness. Do I close my eyes when my hair is washed? Is it weird to just be kind of lying there, staring? Is it weirder to look like I’m enjoying it? Is it rude to look like I’m not enjoying it? I will probably settle for a look of relaxation. Which possibly looks like I’m farting but that was just the leather chair, I swear.

Stage 3: Oh god, is my head straight?

I know I am not an easy person to work on, patient hairdresser. I get very invested very quickly in the lives of all of the other people in the salon, and I like to watch exactly what is happening to all of their hair, because it’s generally more interesting than my own ‘I just want to neaten it up’. I move my head around like a terrier with ADHD. It is never straight. And when I concentrate hard I tilt my head. So I am just instinctively not helping from the word ‘go’. They should allow hairdressers to whack people (OK, me.) with a rolled up newspaper if they stop paying attention.

Stage 4: Does my face really look like that?

Fifteen to forty five minutes of staring at your own face in the mirror is sobering. After a certain point my nose doesn’t look like a nose anymore. It’s just a fleshy thing in the middle of the potato that used to be my face, but has somehow morphed into just a ball of stuff with half-finished hair. Am I cross-eyed? What even is a nose? It’s so weird. This is the stage when shit gets deep.

Stage 5: I am fabulous and I will flip my head until it falls off.

In your face, jaded businessman who left the office late and is sitting next to the weird girl on the tube. Quite literally, in your face. Smell my salon-y scent and be jealous. And/or marry me and buy me nice things. My fiance probably won’t mind.

*Bonus 6th Stage: Try to take a selfie without anyone seeing you take a selfie

Especially if you know you might write something about going to the hairdressers later. Try to get your phone out of your bag every time you’re left alone for even a second. Fail miserably. It’s like a sad game of ‘what’s the time Mr Wolf?’.

And, with that settled, I’m going to look in the mirror while I flip my hair because I am fabulous.

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