No, not fairydust or illegal drugs, or even legal drugs, but some bizarre sort of hair styling product. Warning: This post will probably turn in to a minor rant about hairdressers and hair products and the expensive pointlessness of it all.
This morning I had my first haircut in many, many months - my first professional haircut in a good while longer than that. And I've learned it's best to be brave when it comes to haircuts, and in my case the shorter the better as it'll no doubt be a while until I concede to go again.
The washing bit is nice - a good head massage and the comforting feeling that this shampoo is likely to be much better than my own, and even if the hairdresser is crap, there's only so much Wrong that can happen at this stage.
I get sat down, dripping wet and draped in a big plasticy sheet in front of a mirror. Attractive. What do I want? I explain my conditions: I'm lazy, it needs to be short and very very easy to look after, beyond that, I'm open to suggestions. Much waving and pointing ensued at this point - we take this bit back to here and leave this like so and thin this and froof that and so on and so forth. Frankly, I wasn't paying attention, and she was enthusiastic, so I said yes.
I now have two haircuts, one on each side of my head.
There's a diagonal line across the back of my head joining them together. At this point I'll reserve judgement as to whether I like it or not. Between the two I like the left better than the right, but I also quite like the right. Trying one haircut at a time is just so conventional. Like it or not, there is one thing I shall reluctantly admit. My hair is cooler than I am. This weekend, between midnight and the early hours of the morning you shall find me in my bed, curled up with my stuffed toy cat and fast asleep. I shall be sleeping bald. My cool new hair will be in an expensive nightclub, wearing designer shoes, drinking Jagerbombs and snogging strangers. It's that cool. I am desperately trying to think of ways to de-cool this hairstyle to avoid this. Suggestions on a postcard.
Back to the fairydust. Between these two simultaneous hairstyles I have been shampoo'ed, conditioned, conditioned with something else, cut, razored, clipped, moused, blow-dried, straightened, hairsprayed and "Magic Powder"ed. Oh yes, magic powder. I asked, you see. "To make it all big". That's it, all I got. Magic powder to make it all big. Genius. It's like I've been back-combed by tiny little fairies.
And so all day I've (on occasions, mostly I've been getting on with Real Life, emailing and eating, walking places and washing up, and such like) been musing on what this stuff could be. It feels horrible. Dry and sticky and the same time. If I smoosh my fingers through my hair they come out white and create a huge amount of friction when you try to rub it off. Almost rubbery. I've seen this before, now where?
Lightbulb goes on. Ping! I got it. She's gone and covered my head (paying particular attention to my left ear) with Slip Stop, dammit.
http://www.rscds.org/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&category_id=7&product_id=189&vmcchk=1&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=4
This is Slip Stop (for the uninitiated amongst you). It goes on the soles of dance shoes and on church hall floors to stop old people falling over too much.
In a roundabout way I feel better now. My too-cool haircut has been achieved through dubious magical hair products akin to those used by Scottish country dancers. This levels out the cool factor, and I can once again be seen in public with my own head.
No comments:
Post a Comment