A Trip to the Hairdressers

I am so busy that I work overtime late into the night. I work so hard that I am even in on Saturdays and Sundays. I have spiralled into a life of monotony, and the only social outlet I have is when I take a smoke break with a colleague during the day.

About three months ago I went to a new hair stylist for the first time, under the recommendation of a colleague's wife. It was one of those trendy places that I'd normally not go to for I am too busy to care about looks these days. I was a bit nervous when I saw the establishment, all austere in black and white, its sleek waif-like staff in their stylish charcoal greys and hair of asymmetric coolness, standing around with not much too do except appraise each customer as they walk in, then according to their wealth vs hip scale treat you with as little respect as they can spare. I think I wore an granny smith green cardigan that day (oh but I thankfully wore BLACK jeans that day, phew).

They gave me a form to fill out.

I think they give forms out to the plebs while the celebs breeze straight up to the mezzanine level for that VIP treatment. High above the plebs.

For the life of me I couldn't help but feel a sense of hopelessness as I filled that form out. Why was I bothering to get a haircut in a place like this? Was I hoping a new hair do would hide all my other physical faults? Perhaps if they gave me a Rapunzel do. Then I could use all that hair to wrap myself up like it were a hijab. So I get a trendy haircut, it wasn't going to hide that fact that I'm a fashion disaster. I sat there and sweated away my self confidence to the point of fretting over getting the answers wrong on that stupid form. Which asked for my name, contact number and address. An imbicile in disguise, that's what I am and they'll soon they'll all discover it. Somehow the last reserves of my liquidfying mind tells me to play it cool... Bah I say to your forms! I shan't fill it in, I defy your authority!

So there.

I hand back their piece of paper with childish scrawls in Chinese, a language I can barely speak let alone script nicely. Was there a slight disapproving look as they take a glance at my form? Ha! Probably beyond their faux dyed hair folicles why anyone didn't want to comply to their standards of conformity. I was then lead to the mezzanine level.

The hair washing was nice I must admit. It was a well executed routine with a very good neck and head massage included. I've been to lesser hairdressers and hate it when they get water in your ear or press too hard on your scalp or just can't get the water temperature right the second time they turn the water on when they ask at the beginning what your preference is. This was a good treatment.

I am lead back to my perch on the mezzanine level. They offer me tea and coffee and lay a thick slab of CURRENT magazines on the bench for me to read. I pick one up and non chalantly flip through the pages of couture and dead eyed models in their canary yellow mowharks, indigo eyes and glamourous lifestyles. I stop at the serious articles on the meaning of post modernism architecture and why terrorism is on the rise. I am studious and worldly and unaffected by material luxury such as this haircut I'm getting. Though I am a little annoyed that I've had to pretend to read these articles whilst waiting for my stylist to show. Time is money people!

He arrives and in my head I forgive his tardiness. There's nothing to say really about what caught my eye. There was nothing overt, and nothing hinted. There was just something about him I found attractive. A casual sense of dress, a quiet spoken voice, an attempt at being funny that didn't really pull off. Perhaps within all the artificiality and pretense of coolness was a man who was simply himself, cool. Upon realising this fact I turn into ice maiden. Two can play that game right? At the end of the session he tells me my new short do probably won't last for more than 2 months and that I'll need to get a refresher sooner. That was three months ago and I finally went back for that refresher today.

The waif staff were there still, but somehow less scary today. Just young. The imposing black, white and charcoal intereior seemed dull too. There was no form to fill in today, just straight to a seat on the first floor near the front door. The tea was consistent and so was the massage. He showed up moments later and remembered me from our previous cut. I still find him attractive, but I do not turn into an ice maiden. The cut was great, spunky like me. I decide to go back for my next refresher within two months.