Archive for February, 2011


a new day has come

It’s a new morning and significantly, the day after what shall now be called ‘the wielding of the scissors’. I still cannot pretend the event did not happen (unfortunately).

After consoling myself over the mess which now sits atop my fat head with a few drinks last night, I have finally come to the resolution that there is nothing more that I can do.

(Yes, it took me awhile to come to this conclusion, but I never denied I was slow)

I don’t think I’m the only one who does not like my haircut though. It’s only been a mere 24hours before my straggly locks were given the scissors treatment (what I should deem, ‘The Hacking’ (sounding like a M. Night Shyamalan movie title, hmm? And yes, possibly an exaggeration on my part), but I think I’ll need more time for this to sink in.

Moreover, I wonder what to make of the fact that waking up this morning, it appears that my left eye has taken this hair-cutting experience deeply. It is all puffy, swollen and disgusting and I can only deduce that some small part of me (even if it is only my left eye), is trying to protect myself.

My left eye is trying to either a) close itself up so I can only half-see what my hair looks like, b) is trying to make itself look worse in an attempt to take away the attention my haircut will receive or (and the smallest chance here, significantly less believable than the former possible answers), c) looks as it does only merely due to the fact that I got face scrub in that eye and it hurt.

I feel somewhat like Eddie McGuire here, although guessing the right answer will not win you a million dollars (you’ve not even reached the safety level, though I guess you cannot really have a safety level in a one-question quiz).

The obvious answers are really a toss-up between A and B though, right?

I guess I had said before that I wanted to do something drastic, like chopping all my hair off and feeling rather liberated! But then, I know I would feel great for the first few hours, and then spend every one after bawling my eyes out.

I know it is stupid to be entirely hung up on my hair, but washing it this morning I failed to adjust the shampoo/conditioner ratio and pretended to wash hair I no longer had. Sad. It was like those people who lose limbs and can feel it’s ghostly presence still there. (Clearly my hair is kinda somewhat possibly vaguely along the same lines?)

Maybe I should take solace in the fact that my mother said she liked my haircut. Though actually, maybe I should take that as a warning sign!

..and now to attempt to find a hat AND an eye-patch before I venture into the city later today. Fantastic!


Oops, I did it again!

Thankfully, unlike Britney Spears, my ‘oops’ situation does not involve playing with hearts, getting lost in the game and some fantabulous synchronised dancing with a red latex cat-woman/bodysuit thing. (Video here, let’s reminisce)

So what has stupid Amanda done again, you may ask (and why oh why does she feel the need to blog about her stupidness and therefore embarrass herself on her blog?)

Let’s get some background information here.  A fair few months (yet significantly not blog posts) ago, I dyed my hair. Previous readers (you two know who you are, ha!) would remember that this dying of the hair was a horrendous disaster and resulted in some black hue which should clearly have been DARK BROWN (liars).

After living with the disaster, I finally went and sought professional help at an actually trendy hair salon where I spent 5 hours (no typo there) getting the colour stripped, highlights done, and a general colour makeover. Initially, after having the black mess colour stripped, I looked (their description), like a ranga. Personally, I thought I looked like Vanessa Amorosi in her ‘Holiday’ video clip. Ha! (sorry photos will not be added)

ANYWAY, (this is more back-story than I thought I would put, but oh well) the other day I went to get the colour retouched. It had been a good six months (apparently you’re meant to get your colour fixed every 6-8weeks? Oops (but not main oops).

After discussing how to colour my hair, the deadly question came.

‘So Amanda, how long has it been since you’ve had your hair cut?’

Oh, the shame. I knew I would never be able to hide for so long. After speed-talking my way through justifications of avoiding a proper haircut such as a) previous hair-cutting nightmares b) the fact that I have never walked away with a haircut I’ve actually liked c) split ends are so tre chic!, they just raised their eyebrows and, practically begged me to get my hair cut.

 How embarrassment. They begged me to get a haircut. I guess three-way split ends are not as trendy or manageable as I thought?

And so I relented and made a booking. I thought it would be better – this was a trendy-hair salon and not just a Just Cuts with a shiny sign.

Early in the morning I was met by my hairdresser. I felt rather fancy. I was referred to as a ‘client’ and not ‘next-waiting’. My split ends were tackled by a metro with a long blonde fringe and shaved undercut. Hot.

Fluffing around with my hair he seemed in shock. The look of disappointment clearly evident on his trendy-stubbled face growing with each second that passed as I sat in a somewhat shameful silence.

‘When was your last haircut, Amanda? Do you use any product in your hair?’

Trying to justify my hair disaster did not go well.

‘Product?’ I query. ‘As in stuff to help your hair look better and healthier’ he explains. ‘I use conditioner!’ I trumpet. I don’t necessarily think that’s what he meant. Maybe I should retreat to ‘next-waiting’ country.

I told him I needed a bit of length to counteract my fat head – it is just (and I mean, just) below my shoulders. I told him I like my fringe thick and demonstrated where my parting normally is – but he readjusted it.

Bits of my fringe falling into my hands as he wields his scissors make me feel sad and somewhat old. Like those old people who have had the same haircut for ages and ages and are finally making a change, or those people who have really long hair and getting a bob or something.

 ‘You won’t even recognise yourself after this!’, he says (somewhat excitedly, possibly more maniacally)


I hate my haircut. AGAIN.

It’s too short, and all my aims of being able to do one of those cool fish-tail plait things have gone down the drain.

I was told I break a fair few hair-dressing rules such as a) leaving it so long between colouring, b) my fringe has a life of it’s own and needs to be cut differently from normal fringes (great, even my fringe has issues), c) triple-split ends? (I don’t know who I’m fooling) and d) how my hair looks thick, but actually isn’t (I guess no conning proper hair dressers!)

I am aware I am no hairdresser, but this was more than a Just Cuts price, this was trendy-salon price, and therefore rather hefty.

Smiling at me in the mirror and marvelling over his finished product, I attempt to smile back.

‘And so do you like it?’ he smiles even bigger. The trainee girl comes over and backs him up on his sculpting skills. ‘I think it looks great, a LOT better. You have great hair now!’ she says.

Fantastic. Now I’ve got no way out. Thinking about what to say reminds me of my previous hair-cutting dilemmas, and advice from people who love their haircuts about being firm and truthful in what you think about what your hair looks like. I can’t do anything like that now. Lie time! Hmmm, why is this situation starting to sound vaguely familiar?

‘Ah yes, I love it! It’s amazing what you’ve done; I don’t know why I didn’t come here earlier. Thanks heaps!’, I enthuse (no really, I did enthuse), and smile back. Hmm?

And another significant chunk of money disappeared.

When I was asked whether I wanted to make another booking I skirted around the issue and said I would see how this went, hoping that my constant grinning would mask my non-committal response.

Why do I do this time and time again? Is there any way to escape this vicious cycle? Apparently not for me.

I guess now I’m caught like a little (scary) moth in a spider’s web, that when my split ends are tripled again.

I cannot wait.

February 2011
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