You would think by now I would give up on fairy tales and happy endings but being the eternal optimist I keep searching for that special stylist who can magically transform my hair from frumpy to fierce.
Granted they don't have much to work with. My hair is fine and stick straight so I'm not expecting miracles but just once I'd like to walk out of a salon without thinking, "Oh God, what have I done?"
Unfortunately yesterday was one of those days. I had taken in pictures of styles that I like and even some I didn't so there would be no misunderstanding. After donning a smock and settling into the chair I proceeded to show her my carefully selected photos. She took one quick glance and said, "Sure, no problem, we can get that look,"and she proceeded to go to town.
As she razor cut my strands my hopes grew. Then came my favorite part, the hair washing/head massage with heavenly smelling shampoo. That done we move back to the chair and she whips out her blow dryer faster than I whip out my credit card at Bloomingdales. And that's where the dream died. The pictures I had brought were all of textured dos, piecy and flipped back away from the face and she was using a round brush smoothing my hair forward.
"Oh," she cooed, "So pretty, this looks so good on you." "But," I sputtered, "this isn't what I want at all," pointing at the picture I brought. By now she is getting the idea I'm not happy so she goops a punch of pommade on her hand and starts scrunching. "See," she says, "you just have to work with it." Now I'm in a catch-22. Dig a deeper hole by asking her to try again or cut my losses (literally) and get the hell out of dodge. I chose the later. And then I went home, washed my hair and styled it myself. But I refuse to accept defeat, next time I know I'll find The One
