I got my hair cut yesterday. Please see my sub-par Mac-taken photo below.
It was my first NYC haircut, and my stylist, Ria at The Beehive1, did an excellent job. (Please don’t hold my no makeup and American Apparel hoodie against her.) I’m always nervous about visiting a new stylist … but I think I have reason to be.
First2, there was Woody. My hair had always been curly and very long, but, after completion of a particularly stressful final during my sophomore year in college, I decided I needed a change. I walked into a random salon on campus and told Woody, the available stylist, that I hated my hair.
“I can see why,” he responded. Ouch. I took a seat anyway, and he started combing my hair. His comb got tangled around my shoulders, and I immediately started apologizing because I hadn’t paid much attention to my hair as I was rushing out to that morning’s final. Woody just shrugged and said, “No worries.”
And then he cut the comb out, sending at least five inches of hair falling to the ground. The man was a lunatic, but he was also a visionary: he showed me how to wield a flatiron, and I’ve never looked back.
Next, there was Leona. One of the perils of working as a sorority consultant was that I often ended up looking like the nomad that I was: dirty clothes, ratty hair, broken heels. I realized while in Hays, Kansas that something had to be done. The only salon on campus was Leona’s House of Beauty, run by a darling yet ancient woman named (you guessed it) Leona.
Poor Leona was still cutting hair even though she was hooked up to an oxygen tank, and she would occasionally have to detach herself from it in order to get to the other side of my head. I would have left her a generous tip based only on my horrible guilt, but the haircut itself was surprisingly nice.
It was so nice, in fact, that when I rolled through Hays again the next semester, I once more visited House of Beauty. I was alarmed when I didn’t see Leona, but my new stylist informed me Leona still owned the salon but had retired from cutting hair.
Leona was the better haircut during my sorority consultant days. There was also an uber-trendy woman in Denton, Texas who interpreted “give it a trim and some layers” as “cut my shoulder-length hair boy-short in the back with some strange layers in the front.” It was, as you might imagine, not a good look for me. But it grew out because, after all, it’s just hair.
1 I will write a Yelp review; I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.
2 By “first,” I mean the first stylist I chose on my own. There was some chemical straightening and highlighting through a cap that I’m going to let remain in the past.