Let me tell you a thing about hair. When you find that one hairdresser, that man or woman who makes your hair look great every time you see them, never deviate from them. Ever.
I have lived a lot of my life disliking my hair. It’s not bad hair, admittedly. It’s dark and thick and mostly straight. I know all you people with curly hair are thinking I have no right to complain. Yet, my hair likes to do what it wants and I don’t like having to spend hours in front of a mirror trying to make it look nice.
I’ve never had my hair very long either. The longest I’ve had it in my adult life was to my shoulders. My sides have this unfortunate habit of curling out if I don’t iron them down. It looks like I have little flippy wings growing out of the sides of my head.
My mom calls me the “Flying Nun” when this happens.
Needless to say, I’ve never been truly happy with my hair. My Godmother was very vocal about how bad my hair was and took me to see her stylist. He did a good job with it, yes, but it was the kind of cut that you like at first, and then a few days later you’re angry because you look like crap and can’t replicate what he did.
My Godmother encouraged me to find a gay, male stylist—something about them being more creative with hair or something—but it was a nice Korean lady who gave me the first cut I ever actually liked. Short. Simple. Easily spruced up with a bit of styling gel.
Sadly, she worked in a place that charges $50 for a cut, and when you only work part-time and need to get your hair done more often to maintain the good look, it’s not really feasible.
Then I met Jennifer. She cut my hair perfectly, and for about $20 less. Sometimes I don’t even need to make appointments with her.
But some days you just really need to get your haircut, so you go to where your mom or sister is going to get it done.
I look like I’m starting to grow a mullet. A flippy mullet.
You and your hairdresser need to be of one mind. So, when you find that special someone with the scissors, don’t deviate.