I got my hair cut last night. I get my hair cut at Bumble & Bumble and between cuts Anne, the amazing hair stylist for the news gives me my “fringe” trims (last night I learned that ‘bangs’ is “cheap salon sounding”. Whatever.). I usually don’t give a lot of direction in a hair cut besides saying, “just don’t make my cut look anything like Ramona Quimby… age 8.”
The cut came out fine. I'm still far from looking like Ramona Quimby, but apparently there is a problem with my color.
Lucas (the Jaime Oliver look-alike stylist who has a cute accent and hasn't pissed me off until now): I don’t have time tonight, but do you want to make an appointment to come back for some color?
Me: Not really. Why, do you think that I need color?
Lucas: Yes.
Me: I kind of like my color.
Lucas: Who colors it now?
Me: God.
Lucas: Well… you have fine hair. Color will also give you more texture.
Me (not wanting to piss him off since he was holding sheers next to my face): I’ll think about it.
The cut came out fine. I'm still far from looking like Ramona Quimby, but apparently there is a problem with my color.
Lucas (the Jaime Oliver look-alike stylist who has a cute accent and hasn't pissed me off until now): I don’t have time tonight, but do you want to make an appointment to come back for some color?
Me: Not really. Why, do you think that I need color?
Lucas: Yes.
Me: I kind of like my color.
Lucas: Who colors it now?
Me: God.
Lucas: Well… you have fine hair. Color will also give you more texture.
Me (not wanting to piss him off since he was holding sheers next to my face): I’ll think about it.
So now I have a complex about my hair color, which totally prevented me from getting the satisfaction of looking at my new hair cut in every store window like a Vidal Sassoon commercial on my walk home.
No comments:
Post a Comment