The Salon

Jennifer grabbed some scissors and chopped my hair at shoulder length before I was ready to say goodbye to my Rapunzel legacy. Though I was shocked, I trusted her instinct. It helped that she looked a bit like Natalie Portman. And if science has taught me anything, it’s that people are more prone to trust those who are pretty. My trust in this stranger with the scissors was enough empirical data I needed to believe that’s a sound theory.

I came to the salon because I was bored with myself. I needed something to change, and chopping all my hair off was cheaper than getting a new wardrobe or having cosmetic procedures, and less hassle than quitting my jobs and moving to Edinburgh to play a wench in medieval re-enactments for tourists.

But then Jennifer brushed my hair. It poofed out like Gilda Radner’s as Roseanne Roseannadanna. My trust was wavering.
“This is how I would wear my hair if it was curly,” she said.
No.
“Yeah, but it’s editorial,” she said.
That’s cause you’re prettier than me, I thought. You can pull off any look.


PHOTO OF JENNIFER FROM 'MY STYLE' SECTION OF NOW MAGAZINE

Two hours of grueling highlighting challenged my sanity. The weight of the tin foil made my neck sore, I was thirsty, early ’90s dance music was blasting, there were too many reflections in too many mirrors, and all I had to read was a rubbishy fashion magazine. I had to breathe and talk myself into believing that I’m a warrior because I was one degree away from having a panic attack in front of all the beautiful staff and clients of W Lifestyle Salon and running out into Queen Street. Then Jennifer returned from her cigarette break and removed the tin foil. I was smiling again.

As she gave me a curly bob, Jennifer and I chatted about her new apartment and my pest problems. I don’t know why I’m always talking about my pest problems…I should really encourage myself to feel more ashamed of it so I’ll stop broadcasting my squalor across the world. I’m sure I’d look chic if I just talked about my new boots and all the money I spent on them, like other girls do.

Then again, maybe pests are a fine topic. As a hairstylist, I’m sure Jennifer gets stuck chit-chatting about irrelevant bullshit all day and some gritty honesty could do her good. Not that I was about to tell her that, after all was dried and hairsprayed, I looked like a poodle from the ’80s. I smiled and said thanks for the makeover, then spent the next week figuring out how to tame my frizz.