Hair.

     Earlier this week I started asking around on Twitter to see if anyone had recommendations regarding 'curly hair competent' hairdressers. I've been growing my hair, but it's just getting too long to do anything with, so I needed some help.  There were a few suggestions sent to me, and so my next step was to go in to show my hair to a stylist to see what she thought she could do with it.  Vanessa at Bloodline Parlour in Ptbo thought she could handle it, so today I went in for the big cut.  My first professional cut in about five years.
     Now, if you don't have curly hair, this all might seem silly to you.  But curly hair is not like regular hair.  It is forgiving in the sense that you don't need a ruler to cut it, because curly hair don't care - it never looks even, even when it is.  This was how I justified cutting my own hair most of the time.  But some other curly hair qualities include being really dry and easily frizzed, having a mind of its own (meaning you can do the exact same things to style it two days in a row, but can come out with quite different results each time), and generally curly hair is very thick, which means a lot of time in the shower, and even more time under the hairdryer (and don't forget the diffuser - if you don't know what that is you must have straight hair).
     The other thing about curly hair is that, if given the wrong cut, it inevitably looks like a triangle, which is not very flattering for most people.  This delightful isoscelean shape generally is the result of no layers cut into the hair - but we all know layers can also be scary if done incorrectly.


     I have had many, MANY bad haircuts over the years.  When I was little, my Mom generally would try to brush my hair (I believe the first time I heard her swear was while she was attempting to brush it the morning after she forgot to use conditioner in my hair at bathtime.  The first time I heard my Dad swear he was putting together a Barbie camper.  Both were scarring experiences.), and would pull it into pony tails, which I would then twist in class so by the end of the day I had two perfect ringlets - a bit like Pollyanna.  When she grew tired of the brush fight, she'd take me to the hairdressers where I'd get most of it cut off, resulting in wonky bangs (they'd be cut straight, but my hair wouldn't co-operate!) and wingy bits all over my head.  I was a terrifically good-looking child, as I'm sure you can imagine.
     When I got to high school I met a girl named Tami who had perfectly straight, blonde, pageboy hair.  I wanted it - badly.  I would try and try with a brush and blowdryer to get my hair to look like hers, which, of course, it never did. (This was before flatirons became common household implements).  It would puff up and be bumpy and flip up on one side and under on the other and between that, my lack of breasts, freakish height and poor fashion sense, I was not the most popular girl in school.
     In Grade 10, in all of my infinite wisdom, I thought maybe short hair was the key to my success.  It wasn't.  Two words - mushroom head.
     By the time I got to university, I was beginning to embrace my curly hair.  Wild, curly hair was in fashion, and so I  was able to be comfortable with what was on my head for the first time since I started caring about my appearance.  Then, as a dare, I decided to shave my head (number 2 guard - not totally bald).  I LOVED it!  So easy, so free, so light, so much less time, effort, and the all-important 'product' was no longer necessary.  I wore it that way, or slightly longer in a more pixie cut, for most of my 20s. Now and then people would assume I was either a lesbian or a chemo patient, but I was okay with that.  Girls and women complimented me all the time.  "You are so brave!" they would say.  "I could never do that!".  When I asked them why, the responses fell into one of two camps, either "my husband/boyfriend would hate it" or "I think my head would look funny".  True, not everyone has the right head shape for short hair, but if you want short hair, cut it.  Men will always tell you they love long hair, but they also love big tits, and not everyone is rushing out for boob jobs.
     I know the men in my life (my Papa, Dad and Earl) all love my long hair and tell me how beautiful it is, and I do appreciate their compliments.  In fact, when I learned that my Papa was diagnosed with cancer, I vowed I wouldn't do any drastic cutting for the duration of his life.  He doesn't know that, but that's why I've allowed my hair to grow.  So I guess I'm a bit of a hypocrite, keeping my long hair for a man, but I've started to take real pride in my hair, and don't really wish to go back to my super-short cut.


     So this all leads me to today.  I headed out with my requisite knit cap (which hides all hair evils), ready to run home to re-wash and re-style whatever was done to me.  I sat in the chair, showed Vanessa a few photos of layered curly haircuts, and put myself in her hands.  An hour later (I told you, I have A LOT of hair!) she had transformed my head.  Totally.  It was still long in back, but fell in natural-looking layers to frame my face.  The triangle was gone!  I looked, well, pretty and pulled-together!  Even the encroaching grey is somewhat camoflaged.  Not only did I not need to put on my hat, I didn't even feel the need to run home and "fix" it.  (Although I did wash and style it when I got home, because I was excited to see how much less time it took to dry, and wanted to play with it a bit.)  Earl showered me with compliments when I got home, and I am a bit embarrassed to say, every time I walk by a reflective surface, I look for my reflection and throw my head around a bit.  It's really fun to be excited by my hair, and to feel good about the way it looks.  Wish I'd done this before my sister's wedding last fall!  It's nice that this story has a happy ending, and I will definitely go back to Vanessa the next time I need a cut.  Saving money by doing it myself just won't "cut" it anymore.