Beauty School Dropout

Monday, March 25, 2013

Basically, my whole entire life in New York has been a search for the perfect gym and the perfect haircut.  Just in case you missed it, you might want to read part one of this story here: The Impossible Dream.  To catch you 13 faithful readers up on the gym search, I just shelled out more money I don't have and am loving Soul Cycle lately.  I know.  I'm a horrible person.  But Dana's classes, which feature 40 riders singing Proud Mary and Living on a Prayer in unison while spinning, are totally worth it.  Or so I tell myself.

So that just leaves the perfect haircut then.  You may have noticed my new short hair from the Disney pics and wondered what was up...


It was about the farthest thing from the perfect haircut you can possibly imagine.  And that short hair?  Not even one little bit on purpose.  Before you read any more, please read this {the ivy project} post from November: Brave New World.

I had some big things coming up and hadn't had a decent haircut in who knows how long.  The last one was the beauty school haircut, which The Chief basically forbid me to do again and offered to pay whatever that meant.  The haircut before that was sometime in June.  A lot has happened since June people.  A whole freaking novel hurricane cross-country lot.  So new hairs were way overdue.  After tons of research on legit, magazine worthy salons in Manhattan, I determined that a cut/style and highlights would be around $400-$500.  Yes, you read that right.  Feel free to read it again.

The Chief and I had a talk, at which point I insisted that we absolutely were not going to pay more for my haircut than we do car payments.  I did a little more research, wondered if I should just suck it up and go to Bumble and Bumble, and eventually bought a deal on Gilt City, which is like Groupon but for more upscale big city things.  The deal was $180 for cut and full highlights, a $400 value.  Don't judge me...it's a bargain in this city.  The salon had great reviews on Gilt City and Yelp, so I thought I was safe.  How bad could it be?

Here's how bad.  Within 10 minutes of being there, I had yelled at the stylist, colorist, and salon owner. Obviously, I was also crying.  So so so so bad.  Basically, the stylist told me the cut I wanted (in addition to my current cut) was horrible and she wouldn't do it.  Then the colorist told me how stupid I was for not knowing that the color I wanted wasn't a good one, or that my natural hair color is a dark blonde (which, many of you know, it absolutely is not).  And best of all, that $200 service I'd paid for was apparently only good for one particular shade of blonde.  Seriously.   I really considered leaving, except that I had already paid for the services.  I considered leaving anyways.

I finally convinced the owner to let me use the $200 I'd paid for a darker shade, but he would only do a single process color (without the caramel and espresso color blend I'd been dreaming of).  And I wanted the length just above my shoulders, with long layers framing my face.  But apparently the stylist didn't like that, and once the first chin-length cut is made, there really is no turning back.  And there are no layers anywhere to be seen.  Two hours later, I pretty much left in tears.  I did not tip those people.  I'm considering paying my favorite OKC stylist to fix it this weekend, but I know it's not as bad as I think it is.  Still.  Traumatic.

It's moments like that when I think it might not be the worst thing in the world to live somewhere other than New York City.  You know, where I can be nice and people are nice to me.

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