When I cracked the shits a few months ago and decided I wasn’t going to colour my hair anymore, I also decided I wasn’t going to pay to get it cut anymore either.
My hair is a couple of inches past my shoulders, it’s thick and coarse, it’s curly at the back but not really at the front and I have a huge cowlick on my right temple and I’ve never found a hairdresser who really knew what to do with it. They tend to want to layer it or thin it but that just makes it crazy and frizzy, when what it needs is a lot of weight to hold it down.
So I armed myself with a new pair of scissors and put in a purchase request at the library for the Hairdressing for Dummies book. Unfortunately they tell me it is out of print so I’m going to have to wing it.
Yesterday I said to my daughter – come on, let’s go outside and you can cut my hair. (The plan is to just keep cutting a couple of centimetres off it each month until all the bleach is out – and yes, it’s going to get ugly for a while).
So I’m standing out there and she’s snip snip snipping away and every so often she’d say – hang on there’s a longer bit here and snip, she’d show me a fairly large chunk of hair in her hands and I said – I don’t think you know what you’re doing and she said – Obviously – because I’m not a hairdresser.
Looks good to me though, my hair is so thick that you can’t even notice a few crazy snips. Well I can’t anyway – I never look at the back of my head.