Haircut 101

First: after reading all of your comments on my entry about phobias, I realised that actually, I have WAY more phobias than I had written about, and, indeed, that I had completely omitted some of my biggest, and most all-consuming phobias. Maybe I was trying to suppress the thought of them or something?

Well, because the thought of leaving an entry unfinished makes me break out in hives, I went back and edited it to add them in, and to make the entry in question only slightly shorter than my University Dissertation (On the Road: the American dream as seen by Jack Kerouac, JD Salinger and someone else who I totally can’t remember anymore. So that was a worthwhile exercise, no?). So, yes, you can go back and read the bits you missed if you have a burning desire to delve even further into my psyche. Death! Cancer! People who kind of rumble sweets around their mouths before crunching them loudly! Fun times, people, fun times…

Anyway, this post isn’t actually about phobias. No, this post is about my hair, and how I went all the way to Edinburgh yesterday to have it cut, at great expense, I might add, in a salon that actually dries your hair after they’ve cut it and everything. Fancy! Round these here parts they just kick you out with your hair still wet, and I’m not even joking. Well, I mean, I am partly joking, because they will blow dry your hair if you really want them to, but they will also charge you extra for that service, and will mostly just not bother to do it.

I’m still not 100% sure what it was that possessed me to haul ass into the city and get a super-expensive haircut when, actually, I could just have driven the two minutes to the Little Hairdressing Shop of Horrors and have it cut for less than half the price, even if I decided to get all high falutin’ on them and ask for a blow dry as well as a cut. Well, actually, I kind of do know, to be honest. I think I did it because I’m always reading articles in women’s magazines which are all, “Spend lots of money on haircuts! Haircuts are an investment! You wear your hair everyday, so a haircut is the one thing you should not hesitate to spend a small fortune on!” So, I read these articles, and apparently I also lost my mind and forgot that I’ve had lots of expensive haircuts in my time, and they haven’t been any different AT ALL from the really cheap haircuts I’ve had, too, because yesterday afternoon found me paying the aforementioned sum of money in order to end up looking exactly the same as I did before:

Hi! I am exactly the same as before! I’m also really rubbish at the “taking a photo of yourself in the mirror” thing, I wonder how other people manage to do that?

My advice to you, then, would be this: if you are the kind of person who always seems to end up with exactly the same haircut, no matter how hard you try to change it, don’t spend lots of money on haircuts. Spend a lot of money on shoes, instead. No one will know the difference with your hair, and at least you’ll have lots of nice shoes.  < /wiseoldsage>

I did have a good day, though, even although I managed to perform my usual trick of “spending all my money but not actually having very much to show for it”, and will now have to live off water and gruel for the rest of the month. Because I am a workaholic, you see, it’s not often that I get to spend an entire day walking around the shops, and as I walk around shoe shops in the same way other, more cultured people, walk around art galleries, this was a nice little break for me.

The salon I had my hair cut in is located inside Harvey Nichols, so I got there early and amused/tortured myself by spending some time winding up the shop assistants by inserting my poverty-stricken and clearly unworthy self amongst the merchandise and making as if I was actually going to reach out and touch something with my grubby, proletariat hands every so often. By the time I left for my hair appointment, I had a whole little gaggle of them following me around the store at a disdainful distance, and when I made my usual pilgrimage to the Christian Louboutin section and actually dared to pick up a shoe, I swear they all gave a collective little gasp and tottered backwards in shock. So that was fun.

Of course, today on the way to the gym, my car (Terry’s is still in the garage, being held at ransom) started to make a funny whirring noise, which was different from all of the other funny whirring noises it has made, and which probably means that as soon as we have liberated Terry’s car, mine will be incarcerated in its place, and yet more money will be sucked from me. It’s not true that you can’t get blood from a stone, you know – the folks at our local garage manage it just fine.

Back to the Little Hairdressing Shop of Horrors for me next time, then.