in retrospect, i should have known within the first few minutes it wasn’t going to have a happy ending. as she sat me down in the chair and asked, “so what are we doing today?”, she was visibly distracted as i was trying to describe what i wanted. quite long in front, i said, pointing to an inch below my collarbone, and to the base of my neck in back. ultra short, choppy fringe in front. layered a tiny bit at the ends so it swings under and has some movement. she nodded absentmindedly as she looked around for a shampooist. red flag #1.

back in the chair after the requisite shampoo, i sat staring into the mirror, suddenly realising her own hair didn’t look that great. it was kind of haphazard and a little dowdy, with lots of salt and pepper in it – the “too busy to really do my hair in the mornings much less care about dying it” look. red flag #2. she wielded the comb awkwardly, pinning the lengths of my hair in front of my eyes.

and before i knew it, i could see that it wasn’t what i’d asked for. the front was too short, the back too long. i was getting the matron’s version of a bob, but there was nothing more i could so about it – the hair was already gone.

i was looking for dramatic, and she kept trying to give me the anna wintour pageboy.

i have *very specific* ideas about what i want when it comes to my hair, and my short fringe is my trademark – some people hate it, but i love it. it’s the one thing that makes me feel slightly edgy as i advance further into my 30s. and i know i’ve found a good hairdresser when they listen to my explanation and do exactly as i ask.

she dried my hair and set up her next client before she began on the fringe. at this point i knew she wouldn’t take my short fringe request seriously. she tried to convince me to leave it very conservatively long. red flag #3. i insisted she take it shorter and then shorter again. i pointed to the line of demarcation – the prominent wrinkle across the middle of my forehead. i asked for her to chop into the ends to soften it, and instead she began adding feathery bits, so i stopped her, realising in my mind i’d have to do it myself when i got home. when you’re already planning the corrections you’ll make in front of your own sink with a pair of nail scissors, that’s red flag #4. she couldn’t have made it clearer that she didn’t like the looks of it, but by that point i was just desperate to get out from under her scissors.

when i’d made the appointment, i’d initially asked for my regular stylist, but he was on leave for another two weeks. dying for a cut, against my better judgement i agreed to an appointment with carole instead.

never again. it’s not the worst haircut i’ve ever had (that honour is reserved for the one that made me cry before i’d even left the salon chair). it’s not even horrible. but it’s not what I wanted at all. not by a long shot.

scissors for lefty – lay down your weapons

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