Last weekend, after slowly beginning to resemble Cousin Itcousin-it.jpg, I scheduled an appointment for a haircut.  I had been meaning to do so for quite some time, but with one thing and another…you get the picture.  So last night, I went to my favorite haircutting parlor, plopped down in the chair, and let the stylist at it.

I have long adopted a sort of zen attitude about haircuts.  While it is true that I have had some bad ‘dos, and I have shed a tear or two over some of them*, I have shed that type of reaction.  I no longer get attached to particular stylists (as they have a tendency to move on), but instead have chosen a place where the level of styling skills seems consistent (beware the salon that has one great stylist and a bunch of mediocre – or worse, bad – ones).  I also don’t go in with a set-in-stone idea of what I must have, since everyone will interpret things in their own way.  I occasionally bring in a picture, but more for the general “feel” of the ‘do.

This is all for the set up that the stylist did something completely different than what I had asked for.  It isn’t the first time (though it was the first time she had done my hair).  You see, I have a very 1920s type of face.  And that compels most all hairstylists to bob my hair.  They can’t help it – they see me and think Louise Brooks or Clara Bow, and they bob the hair.  I had had a modified shag, which grew out, and I had asked her to basically take the same look up three inches, to about chin level.  And she heard me, and I’m sure she understood me, but once the scissors got into her hand, she couldn’t help but give me the bob.  And if I had gone in, expecting something specific (although you could argue that I had – I had wanted my hair to look like it did 8 months ago), I probably would have freaked out.  But I’m not super attached to a particular style.  I do like to change it up from time to time.  And I do think bobs are cute. 

Ultimately, the new haircut fulfilled two important requirements:  flattering? yes, I think so, and out of my face? yes, completely.

So I was happy.  In fact, I always feel refreshed after a good haircut.  The stuff they chop off is from the year before (it is for me – I don’t get haircuts very often), and it is a little like feng shui – I’ve had the old hair removed, and I have only the new hair left.

New hair = new beginning.

*Quite possibly the worst haircut I had ever received from a professional (which would exclude any bowl cut given to me by my mother, and one ill-advised intentionally asymetrical haircut I had given to myself) was one where I had gone in to a salon, asked for a pixie cut, and came out with one of those “Caesar” cuts that were all the rage (for men) many moons ago.  What would possess this guy to give me a “dude’s haircut”?  Ignorance, one would assume.  But it was bad, and I cried.  But it grew back, and I think that might have been when I realized that since hair grows back, all cuts, good and bad, are temporary; so there’s no point getting attached.