I have a bad relationship with hair stylists (and waxers, and masseurs, and even physiotherapists and dentists – people who do things to my body). I don’t dislike having my hair done, but I always feel self-conscious asking for things, and unable to explain what I want, and secretly thinking how much they much hate working on my hair, and who am I fooling, anyway, trying to look nice. Plus, the noise and the trying to make conversation over it, it all adds up to a bad experience for all concerned (or at least for me).
Throughout my life, I have worn my hair two ways – long, straight, unaltered and usually tied back or up, and short, really short. Sometimes, it’s been in transition between those two states, but it’s usually one or the other, on a kind of five-year cycle. This is about two years into short, and I somehow don’t think I’m going back. In fact, I’d like it even shorter, but I suspect I’d look a bit TOO scary. This was done today, and for the first time, I’ve gone a bit blonder, rather than redder or darker. I’m not sure about it, but there it is, it’s just hair.