^even the world’s most beautiful woman can’t escape weave damage
I don’t like getting haircuts because I don’t like having to wait a week for it to look its best and then watch it slowly decline til it resembles the yard of a Hoarder castmember.
It’s a universal part of the first-world human condition to get a bad haircut from time to time. And it’s not like it’s a surprise when it happens. You can detect that “oh…shit” point in the middle of your haircut where you know they’ve just hacked off the wrong thing.
Also–I don’t know about you, but I’m uncomfortable paying someone more than, say, $8 to cut my hair. Before graduation, I spent $60 and damn near keeled over at the front register–which would have made my diploma-accepting experience the next day a bit more of a Weekend-at-Bernie’s affair.
There’s nothing sadder than having to bid a trusted haircutter adieu because they’ve drifted into the dreaded “comfort zone”–where no matter what you request, how many pictures of Brad Pitt you take with you and feverishly point at, they’ll always give you the same haircut they’ve given you since 1998. You feel like you’re locked in some Faustian bargain with them where you’re compelled to visit them forever. And that you’ve cheated on them if you go to someone else (it doesn’t help when I return a few months later and you ask “where ya been?” with a fake-casual tone).
That feeling after a haircut when your head feels 30 lbs lighter is disturbing. Hair only weighs as much as a curvy Nicole Richie–so why does it feel as if you’ve removed a local river rock distributor from the top of your head?
There’s no stranger feeling than that lightheaded (the good kind) relief and the devil’s itchiness afterwards because little pieces of hair are dusted across your neck and other strange places (how the hell did it travel down to my lower back?) There’s no remedy for this. You could get a haircut in a burka and a wind tunnel and yet still feel like chiggers are doing the Texas two-step across your décolletage.
You know a haircut is good when it looks good two months afterwards and it didn’t have to “grow out” for it to be socially acceptable. My last one is like that and I’ve been hemming and hawing for weeks over shearing it.
Down to brass tacks tho: who wore their weave better?
