So I’ve been cutting my own hair for about 10 years now. And I’m obsessed with my hair, annoyingly so. Let’s do a little timeline shall we?
1998, dyed own hair for first time. Have not stopped since.
1998-2003 dyed hair every color in the world. Hair was “Dyke-Short” with the help of a FLOWBEE. THE BEST.
2003 began process of growing out hair.
2003-2006 Ugly phase. Obsession with cutting hair at three am becoming an issue to the whole “needs to be longer” thing.
2006 began going to a freaking salon. The Spa Club do not EVER GO THERE.
2007 Got married! Aaaww.
December 2007, wanted to kill hair care professional for the first time in my life.
I went to the spa club, an over-priced, under-delivering Spa in which I had received a gift certificate at a wedding show. I got my hair professionally cut and dyed and listened each time to the lecture entitled “Why it’s really bad for you to cut and dye your hair yourself.” EVERY TIME. The girls were nice enough, but I always had to wait, I always went home a little dissatisfied, my face didn’t get better from the bullshit microdermabrasion, and I always felt a bit like I was being fucked with a red-hot poker. In my ass.
I went in late December and asked for Blonde hair with red highlights. Not hard. Blonde, everywhere. Red, a couple streaks. This young lady decided that the best way to go, with my LONG Hair, my THICK AS HELL hair, would be to do foils over my entire head.
3 hours pass, and we’re finally rinsing.
I left that day with Orange Hair. Roots. Ugliness. Damaged damaged hair.
I called the next day and said I was indeed very dissatisfied with it. Oh, P.S. this was 95 dollars. The next available appointment was a week later. I had to manage the thick straws of damage and breakage for a week.
I go back in, and she decides that the best thing to do would be to just do all over blond. Fine. So I sit there with the bleach burning my brains for another hour. We rinse. Slightly less fiery, startlingly neon orange. Breaking and falling out in clumps. She could not cut my hair while it was wet, because she could not get a comb through it, so she cut off inches while it was bone-dry and becoming a neon fro. Gobs upon gobs of smoothing serum.
Did I mention that I had been growing my beautiful, thick, long hair for three years? And that I’m obsessed with it? Ruined. She actually said these words:
“Well, you could wear a hat for a couple weeks and come back to bleach it out again.”
My hair was falling out in clumps.
That weekend, I learned that I can cut my hair while crying. I learned that a box of hair dye can mean the difference between neon orange and an okay brown.
I have about an inch and a half of new growth coming in now, my natural color showing now for the first time in 10 years. Every time I do my hair in the morning, I curse that 19 year old bitch and her Italian boyfriend and her psoriasisy hands. I scour the aisles of beauty supply places for something to help me, something perhaps called “Make it not have happened to me” or “FUCK that hairdresser” and come up with only smoothing serums that help the frizziness and flyaways that are every day life. I’ve seriously considered dyke-shorting it again, but then I would have the whole Ugly Phase thing that I would have to deal with. But then again, I would have hair that is not an hour of work and a very hot flatiron. I don’t know. I need objective advice. I need someone to argue cutting it all off, or persevering through the mess for the sake of length.
OPINIONS please.
