My hair has always been an elusive creature. Not in the sense of trying to find it – that is not difficult at all, it’s bloody everywhere! There’s so much of it – no I mean in the sense of trying to tame it, make it look good.
Some people just ‘get’ their hair. They know how it moves, dries, what they need to do to it, what they don’t, what’s achievable, what boundaries they can push, how to simply ‘wear it well’.
I have never had this luxury.
It has always been a thick, frizzy, wavy, sometimes curly mass of unshiny, unsilky, untameable hair that I can do sod all with.
All those times I took in pictures of celebrities with fabulous hair to the hairdresser, hoping they could work miracles and I would step out from the chair and emerge into my new perfect hair life with the ‘Rachel’ or ‘Britney’ (or more recently, a randomer from Pinterest), leaving jealous onlookers in my wake at the elegance of my new do.
Surprise, surprise, that never happened. I would sit agog in the hairdresser’s chair wondering why I didn’t suddenly have the beautiful flowing locks I’d hoped for like the ladies in the photos. I’d planned for gorgeous hair, and all I’ve got is still this same frizz ball – that was not in the plan!
But I have come to understand too, that it is not all my fault. Yes it may be MY hair, but no one before (professional hair experts, I am referring to) has tried to help me really figure out the ways of my hair.
I have a statement to make now. I hate going to the hairdressers. Absolutely hate it. I am made to feel like a nuisance, a bother, a time waster, an irritation, quite simply – I am made to feel as though I am troublesome.
During my last but one hair cut, the hairdresser had no qualms in telling me that as I had walked in, one of her colleagues had turned to her commented on the amount of hair I had and told her not to take all day. Every single – as in every single – trip to the hairdresser has involved THE CONVERSATION, it goes as follows: “Wow, haven’t you got a lot of hair. It’s think isn’t it. Deceptively so. You don’t think there’s quite so much, but there is, there’s loads. Never ending your hair, is it.”
The hairdresser always starts off cheery, but the smile soon begins to fade as the time begins to tick on as when they’re still cutting my hair – they’d usually be onto the drying of someone else’s hair by this time. And by the time they’ve finished drying my hair, I’m practically getting kicked out the door and told not to come back.
Going to the hairdresser is never a nice experience for me.
Surely my hair type can’t be THAT uncommon that hairdressers don’t come across more hair like mine more often? But alas, it appears so.
It’s been some months (if not getting close to a year, I can’t quite remember when) since I last had my hair done. But seeing a video of myself that my friend sent me, made me realise how ‘Hagrid-esq’ my hair had become. I laughed it off, but inside I died a little, as not only did I look like a fool with mad frizzy hair all over the place (sorry Hagrid, your hair suits you, but it’s not really the style I’m going for), it also meant it was time to visit the dreaded hairdresser again.
I went to one I had been to before (I’ve been to them all before), one that I actually do a bit of freelance writing for every now and again, and was given a new stylist (timing or behind-the-scenes ‘don’t make me do her hair again!’ I’m not sure), but she is hands-down the best stylist I’ve ever been too.
Praise the lord – there is a hairdresser out there who has hair like mine – AND knows what to do with it!
She completely understood my plight, the plight that has plagued me for my entire life. It turns out that my new forever-hairdresser, cuts her own hair as she can’t find a stylist who can cope with her hair either. Although I wouldn’t result to cutting my own hair – when you’ve got the skills to do it, why not!
Anyway, she told me and showed me for myself what I need to do to get the best from my hair, and it involves very little but scrunching all the way.
Scrunching out the water after shampoo and conditioner, scrunching in leave in conditioner, scrunching in lots of mousse, scrunching my hair with the diffuser attachment of the hair dryer until it’s dry – and that’s it.
By the time she had finished, my hair looked exactly like hers – scarily like hers – and it didn’t suit me quite the same. However, I had now learnt the secret of what I roughly need to do with my hair to get its natural beauty out. And so I washed my hair this morning and attempted my own version of the scrunch-a-lot. Just not quite so scrunchy.
And I am so happy with the result. It will still take some getting used to, as for my whole life I have wanted straight and flowing hair, but obviously I need to work with what I’ve got – and it is too curly for that. So I will persevere with the scrunching and do my best to work it, instead leaving jealous onlookers of my wavy locks.
Until next time. x