One of my favorite luxuries has been getting my hair "done" at a salon. For me this includes color, and often foil weaving. I can pass on getting regular mani's and pedi's. I don't have hundreds of shoes in my closet. But I really love getting the regular cut and color. After all, hair is an accessory you wear every day!
When I lived in Redlands, CA, I had the most wonderful hairdresser, Mykl. I could give him great creative license and I always looked fabulous. He cut my former spouses hair including eyebrow wax for only $20. And my daughter's haircuts were less than those local chains at the time even with the coupon price. Every five to six weeks, sitting in his chair was a relaxing and enchanting part of my life. He was a very funny and lively person and not only did I enjoy his talent, but who he was as a person as well.
An acute illness took his life from his body. Around this time I had to stop working because of disability. Soon after, my husband lost his job. There was a bankruptcy, foreclosure, followed by divorce. My once luxury of choice was lost to me. So I improvised.
I had my hair cut at chain "chop shops". I colored my own hair various blondes and reds. But I could never get the color right for a touch-up. I eventually stopped coloring my hair and let it go natural for a couple years.
I learned to be ok at being the best me I could be regardless of not having a professional hairdo. I realized I could be a kind and friendly person to neighbors and "strangers" I would talk to in grocery store lines. I had friends. They didn't seem to balk at my lack of a salon hairdo.
Last May, I finally received notification that I would be receiving Social Security Disability after fighting for 7 years. It took a few months for the money to come in and for me to accept that this was really happening. I wanted to once again treat myself to a great hairdresser. But where to find him or her? My sister's colorist was too expensive. My mother's, well she's my mother's.
So I did what every woman who believes that God and the Universe conspire to bring us the best when we ask for it, and I typed into Google "Fantabulous salon Bakersfield, CA". Yes I know that fantabulous is not a "real" word but it completely describe the type of hairdresser I was looking for. The name of a very nice salon came up first. I called and described the type of service and person I was looking for in a hairdresser and an appointment shortly ensued.
My hairdresser was young and energetic and had great hair herself. We picked a color (or should I say a "mix of colors") together. When she told me how much the service would cost, I was extremeley amazed and pleased. My hair came out beautiful and the experience was wonderful too!!
I know if circumstances should require that I stop going to Courtney (my new hairdresser's name), I will be ok. I will even be ok about how I look. Meanwhile, I am gratefully relishing my renewed luxury and feeling hot in my new hair. I love my hairdresser!
And that's Penny's two cents.
Getting a new hairstyle can be transforming. When I was a kid, my dad cut our hair in the military buzz cut style. By second grade in about 1968, I became aware of hair. The "hippy movement" was in full force. Long hair was everywhere (even in Bakersfield) so I asked my dad if I could let my hair grow beyond the quarter inch level. He agreed but still wanted to cut my hair. So, when it came time for a haircut he tried to cut less but someone knocked at the door while he was cutting it and I moved a bit startled. He said because I moved it messed up whatever he was trying to do and announced he would have to proceed with the full on military cut. Actually, I think the real
ReplyDeleteproblem was he didn't know how to cut hair longer than the standard buzz cut. So, once again I got the military deal.
That is the last cut I remember getting from my dad. By 1969, I was in the third grade and could actually comb my hair and use Brylcreem!
In my third grade picture I am proudly sporting a nice cut with my hair combed just right. But it was still conservative.
Then came the Partridge Family and the generation gap really started to rear its ugly head. I secretly raised the part of my hair higher to look more like David Cassidy. I knew my dad would have a fit when he saw it so I tried to hide it. I laid my head on the left side where the higher part was one day in the car. We had not even backed out of the driveway before my dad noticed my "hippy" hairstyle and told me, "Tomorrow you are going to the barber and you will tell him to give you a "regular boys haircut". I don't know why slightly longer hair bothered him so much. So, the next day I obediently went to the barber, gave him my $2 and asked for the regular boy's haircut.
Thinking back now I recognize the androgynous styles that were starting to emerge in the early seventies and how they seemed to threaten many people including my father. I had no idea who David Bowie was back then and had never heard of Glam Rock but fashion has a way of trickling down through the mass media and eventually arriving also in Bakersfield. I just wanted to look good.