I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been to a hairdresser as an adult. No matter where I go, how much I pay, what I get done; I always end up hating what they do. Now I cut and colour my own hair and I really feel like hairdressers are overrated.
In fact, I would rate the whole experience almost as painful as going to the dentist. Right from the start I feel like they’re judging me; yes I have split ends and no I don’t know how long it’s been since my last cut. Then I’m forced to make chitchat with this overtalkative stranger while I sit feeling really fucking ugly with my dripping wet rat hair and unflattering smock drawing attention to my double chin. We continue the charade, chatting and cutting, as I can see my dream hairstyle getting further and further away. It ends, I sit silently staring at my reflection, holding back tears, a giant lump in my throat. I hate it, but I’m smiling and nodding in approval. I gasp in awe as they show me the back, and thank them profusely. On the way out, I’m coaxed into buying overpriced hair products which I will never buy again.
Sure, I’ve had some disasters at home. Trying to trim my bangs evenly, but they get shorter and shorter till I end up looking like a punk lesbian. Or turning my hair orange while trying to go blonde. But at home, you can quickly fix these fuck ups in privacy. They’re not as painful because you paid all of $14 for a dye and haven’t got such high expectations. In a way it’s kind of liberating, you experiment more and realise hair is just hair and it will always grow back.
Every now and then I occasionally try a hairdresser hoping something will change and I’ll have a more positive experience. A couple of months ago I went to a salon in Paddington, spent $500 on a cut and colour which looked nothing like what I wanted. See below, the picture I provided and the end result for proof.
I’ve even started cutting Ollie’s hair. We found I do my best work while I’m borderline boozed, about 3 vinos in, I’m ballsy but not reckless. Actually, the first time I executed an on fleek fade I had (in a drunken stupor) accidently put the wrong attachment comb on the clippers. I shaved a really short spot at the back and then just kind of had to commit. The trick is to stay cool, and not panic. It also helps if you have a really blasé boyfriend.
I’ve also had my hair styled for events and ended up wholly disappointed. If you get a slightly older hairdresser you end up looking like Farrah Fawcett, and the young ones seem to replicate whatever style they have. Honestly, you know your hair best. How it falls, how much hairspray it likes, how long it will hold curls. So don’t be frightened to give home hairdressing a crack, just make sure you have a hat handy if it all goes to shit.