(Hey, did you know you can just put your digital camera's image card directly into your laptop - screw the photo cable? I didn't until my sis-in-law enlightened me. What a world we live in.)
Years ago I decided the hell with hair salons. You pay all that money to have someone who is supposedly trained and experienced to do your hair, they ask what you want ... and then they just give you whatever cut they want to anyway. They use your hair without your permission or request to experiment with whatever new style or cut or form they are itching to try out -- and then they ask you to pay them $50 to $60 bucks for using you as a training head.
So since then, I've just gone to SuperCuts. Or CornerCuts. Or whatever they call that place where you just walk in, don't pay for a shampoo or style if you don't want to, then 30 minutes and $16 later you have a bare minimum cut that they didn't waste a minute on fluffing or contouring or waxing or hairspraying or otherwise hacking at your hair unnecessarily just to get their own hairstyling rocks off. My theory had been: If you're going to dislike a haircut, dislike a $16 cut.
Odd thing was, I had yet to walk out of DiscountCuts dissatisfied. For the past few years, I've walked out quite pleased. No products, no runway experiment dos. Just a quick, clean, cut. Quite pleased.
I went against my better judgment a few weeks ago, though, and went to a pricey salon. I was going from quite long hair to shorter hair, and I thought maybe someone with more skill and experience was prudent. Just to be sure I got what I wanted, though, I brought a picture:
I know. It's a picture of a picture. And a picture of a hair product ad, nonetheless. But I think you get the gist of the cut I was looking for.
This, however, was what the "stylist" gave me.
It was a spitting image of the stylist's hairstyle, surprise surprise. I guess regardless of what I wanted, she wanted a twin. (The first picture I took showed what I really felt a bit too well. No one looks presentable with a glower. So I forced the corners of my mouth into a makeshift smile.)
I was able to restyle it somewhat to something a bit more in the neighbourhood of my desires:
Years ago I decided the hell with hair salons. You pay all that money to have someone who is supposedly trained and experienced to do your hair, they ask what you want ... and then they just give you whatever cut they want to anyway. They use your hair without your permission or request to experiment with whatever new style or cut or form they are itching to try out -- and then they ask you to pay them $50 to $60 bucks for using you as a training head.
So since then, I've just gone to SuperCuts. Or CornerCuts. Or whatever they call that place where you just walk in, don't pay for a shampoo or style if you don't want to, then 30 minutes and $16 later you have a bare minimum cut that they didn't waste a minute on fluffing or contouring or waxing or hairspraying or otherwise hacking at your hair unnecessarily just to get their own hairstyling rocks off. My theory had been: If you're going to dislike a haircut, dislike a $16 cut.
Odd thing was, I had yet to walk out of DiscountCuts dissatisfied. For the past few years, I've walked out quite pleased. No products, no runway experiment dos. Just a quick, clean, cut. Quite pleased.
I went against my better judgment a few weeks ago, though, and went to a pricey salon. I was going from quite long hair to shorter hair, and I thought maybe someone with more skill and experience was prudent. Just to be sure I got what I wanted, though, I brought a picture:
I know. It's a picture of a picture. And a picture of a hair product ad, nonetheless. But I think you get the gist of the cut I was looking for.
This, however, was what the "stylist" gave me.
It was a spitting image of the stylist's hairstyle, surprise surprise. I guess regardless of what I wanted, she wanted a twin. (The first picture I took showed what I really felt a bit too well. No one looks presentable with a glower. So I forced the corners of my mouth into a makeshift smile.)
I was able to restyle it somewhat to something a bit more in the neighbourhood of my desires:
(a little easier to smile)
But if I'm ever tempted to go to a salon again, I hope I know enough to revisit this post and remember that salon stylists are just whores who empty your wallet and walk out of the hotel room without so much as a look in your direction.
Go to the corner whore. She ain't pretty, but she'll do what you ask.
Comments
Nice blog!
:0)
Tara