I mean for serious.
I kept my hair long for the wedding. I actually didn’t want to. I had not had long hair in … well, a long freaking time and I wanted to look like myself for my wedding. Besides, I don’t think I look good in long hair. It’s my round face. When my hair is long the long seems to scream, “Look at moon face over here!”. Urgh. Nevertheless, my wedding planner talked me into keeping my hair for the wedding to broaden my options.
Once the wedding was over, I was chomping at the bit to chop my hair off. When I went down to Houston to irritate my parents for a weekend, my mother decided to get her hair cut and offer to pay for mine. Um, heck yes! Sure, it is at her Asian hairstylist but a hair cut for free? I am off mom and dad’s gravy train now, so while it ain’t my $60* a cut hairstylist it’s FREE and who am I to turn down free?
We walk in and the salon is slightly busy but if we weren’t too picky about who did our hair they could accomodate us straight away. Mom and I looked at each other and shrugged. Whatever, right? I was assigned a male asian hairstylist. Warning bells started going off in my head. First of all, unless my male hairstylist is stylishly gay I am afraid I am very discriminatory. On top of that he is not only straight but he is Asian. Another bad sign. What sane Asian mother allows her Asian son to be a hairstylist? When my cousin announced he was going to pursue a Phd in order to be a Physics professor, my aunt flipped. There went her dreams of having a doctor son. Seriously, all Asians are to be engineers, acccountants, or doctors. Maybe the occasional lawyer but never a hairstylist. The third and last, he didn’t speak any English.
I looked through some hair books and picked two very similar haircuts and told him, “Shoulder. Lenght.” And for good measure added amateur sign language. Point twice at the pictures. Point at me. Thumbs up. Made hand slicing motions at my shoulders. I didn’t want to go too short in case he was a shitty hairstylist then I can just get my hair cleaned up or something.
One hour and 3 old issues of Harpers Bazaar later, I looked up and put my glasses on as he held a mirror behind my head so I could see the results. The longest piece of hair on my head, hit my chin. I don’t know about you, but I have a good, oh I don’t know, 3 inches between my chin and my shoulders. I looked like a cross between an Asian Anna Wintour and a Soccer Mom). I don’t usual cuss but if I did, I would have said, “Oh My Fuck Gawd!” I didn’t. I just nodded and smiled and left. What the heck was I suppose to do? Ask for another hair cut?
I met up with my parents, Dad’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Trying to get your money’s worth?” he quipped.
Thank God hair grows back.
Hair, please hurry. Thanks.
*I am really not that high mantainance but when I was in a hurry to get to an appointment after my hair cut I had accidentally forgotten to leave her a tip and I returned back to her ever since because of guilt