Big Hairy Deal

There's something a little bit embarrassing about the salon where I get my hair did. Actually, there are several things that make the whole ordeal embarrassing. And they are.

1. It's totally pretentious and hyper-swank, but along with the swanky and the pretense, they can make you goh-geous. So every six weeks or so, I go there and lay my money down and enter the World That Is Sexy Hair. Today was just such a day.

The first thing is the decor. It's all black and red, like Jack and Meg White exploded all over the place. All of the stylists look like models. The lighting has soft edges, like there are gels over the lightbulbs, making everyone look a little more Pore-less. Because pores. Mustn't have those. Oh, look, there's a Marcia-Cross lookalike snipping the shit out of someone's 'do. That one in the station next to her looks like Justin Timberlake. Techno music permeates to such a degree that it seems as if everyone should be voguing in slo mo. And honestly, they kind of are. Even though I've had a long day at work, and it's not even dark out yet, I feel like I am walking into an afterhours club. I have to silently shake my head at all of this. Seriously, you guys? All day? With the voguing sans pores?

2. Second embarrassing thing. After you've put on a robe (because Madonna-forbid you would get your hair cut in your own clothes), you wait in the waiting area. And in this waiting area, all of the magazines are GIGANTIC. Like, a foot and a half by a foot and a half. They are almost newspaper size, with huge photos of Kate Moss looking like she is in desperate need of a buttermilk biscuit. So you try to flip through this magazine, that in all honesty, you can barely hold upright. And you try to look cool doing it. Embarrassing.

3. My stylist has these assistants that prep you for her. So one of them will come over to get you, and take you into the prep room, where he will wash your hair and put all sorts of mysterious sprays and gels into it. Now, sometimes, I get Young Gay Josh Hartnett. Young Josh is embarrassing because, well, he seems to get, well, overly excitable about my hair. Let me explain. People who do hair love me. I am like a blank canvas to them. I have long hair that is healthy, thick, and easy to maneuver. It has never been dyed, or permed, or tinted, or anything. It's what they all call "virgin hair." So I am used to a certain glazed hunger coming into the eyes of stylists when they get a hold of me. HOWEVER. Young Josh. He, um, loves my hair. I mean, he looooves it. So, when he's washing it, he TALKS to it. Rather lustily. "Oh my gaaaahd. Look at this haaaair. It's so strong. So shiny. Oh. Oh. GOD. Ohhhhh." All as he is lathering it up. I never know what to do in this situation. He does not talk to ME. It's all happening between him and my hair. I feel like I should excuse myself, before it goes too far. But what can I do? Embarrassing.

4. I like my stylist a lot. She is nice, funny, and she gives me the best hair I've ever had. This explains why I endure all this agita. So most of the time, once I am in her chair, I feel safe. But not always. This, friends, is because in this salon, the stylists are Arteests. And as arteests, they want to study the techniques of their genius colleagues so that they can maintain their own geniosity. So sometimes, as my stylist is cutting my hair, and the other stylists are in between clients, they will GATHER AROUND YOU in a circle. They stand there, and stare. They point and whisper. Sometimes they ask my stylist what sort of technique she's using, and I get treated to such lovliness as "I am turning the strands as I cut them because it's the only way I can get the pounds off of her heavy hair." Pounds? Heavy hair? Sigh. And they all nod and "ah yes" about my fat hair. Not phat hair. But fat hair.

So I endure an hour of embarrassment because the bottom line is that they all really know hair. They actually ARE artists. My hair always looks a bazillion times better than it did going in, so I grit my teeth and get it overwith. The things I do to make my locks more luscious. Please don't judge me. I know it's dumb. And I've been embarrassed enough.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl