Salon Judgment

Saturday, April 16, 2011

It happened today.

Yes, I waited entirely too long to go in for my highlights.

Yes, I have a funky bald spot in there because I BURNED off a chunk of hair last month.

{A story I spared you, but it involved a metal roundbrush, a hair dryer with the concentrator on, and a girl not paying it attention.  It went something like this…

Tyler: “Do you smell something burning?”

Me: “No, I don’t smell anything…” 

Cut to me at a dinner party an hour later, quickly yanking away long hairs stuck in my necklace before anyone notices… Three weeks later, I found “the spot.”}

Yes, my hair just seemed insanely fried, despite no real change in my regimen {beyond the dry-your-hair-until-it-becomes-so-overheated-that-it-physically-detaches-itself-from-your-head routine…}.

I wasn’t intentionally avoiding the salon, I just haven’t had time to go and my roots just snuck up on me in very real, very dark way.

I knew it was coming…

“How long has it been since you’ve been here?  We’ve missed you!!” {Lie.}

“Soooo, what shampoo are you using?” {Make sure your voice goes up at the end when you read it.}

“How often are you flat ironing?”

“Do you blow dry everyday?”

They try to say it casually. 

They try to sneak it into the conversation {while their eyes bulge as they finger through my scalp}.

They try to hide their disgust.

But what they’re really saying is, “What the hell did you do to your hair??”

Salon judgment.

Then they start in on the special treatments…

“You know, we’ve got this great keratin treatment…”

“You should really check out the products we have up front…”

It’s like ordering food off of a menu without prices.  You know it’s going to cost you…

AND I’m uncomfortable the whole time because we’re both trying to be nice, but I feel like I need to defend myself and say, “No, I did not soak my hair in a vat of chemicals last night and then dry it in a tanning bed.”  And I know the train wreck that is my hair needs it, but I still feel like Uncle Frank from Home Alone asking how much it costs…

Salon judgment.

Of all of the physical traits I inherited from my dad, my hair is my favorite {I’m starting to re-think that because I never had braces thanks to him, but a big butt and “athletic” legs aren’t hard to beat…}.  It’s thick, it’s wavy, and it holds curl like a champ.  I don’t always love it, but I think have pretty great hair.

So in the end, I do what I have to save it.  I buy the shampoo.  I take the treatment.  I walk out feeling half-way rejuvenated, and the other half…judged.

Salon judged.

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