Ruminations on My Hair

The first cut was the cheapest.

Damn. My hair looks bad. I’ve let it get crazy-long and when I took it down from its plastic butterfly clip this morning and looked in the mirror, the image staring back was eerily reminiscent of an escapee from Bedlam.

If my locks were thick and voluminous, I’d be singing another tune, but my hair is fine, wavy and flyaway. Not a good look when it’s hanging halfway down your back. And your bangs are obscuring your vision. Actually, that part’s kind of cute. A swipe of nude lipstick and I could pretend I’m Bridget Bardot back in the day. Except not curvy. And not blonde. And not French.

Sure. I could get my hair cut but that would be too friggin’ easy. Often, my OCD makes even the simplest things problematic. We’re talkin’ hard, people. Like a fungus-infected toenail. That hard.

I apologize for that admittedly disgusting imagery but I worked in advertising and had it whipped into me early on to “Think visually, dammit!”

So, please pretend you didn’t read that and I’ll just go the banal route and paraphrase Julia Child/Meryl Streep in Julie & Julia by saying “as hard as a stiff cock.”

What is it with women and their hair, anyway? I know I’m not alone in my follicular obsession. We equate our feminity and sexuality with that stuff growing out of our scalps. It’s ridiculous, really, but even Eve probably used more than that apple to screw with Adam. He got one look at those locks and it was “goodbye fig leaf!”

Should we blame this, too, on men? Why the hell not?! They’re good sports. They eat a lot of shit. What’s a shovel-full or two, more?

So I get about one haircut a year. Two, if I’m feeling particularly frisky. Normally, I don’t get the kind of style that needs a lot of upkeep. I get a couple of inches lopped off the bottom, some strategic layers for volume and that’s about it.

For me, it’s also important that I keep my hair long enough so that I can tie it back when I work out. In fact, I never wear my hair down when I’m at home. So why don’t I just cut it off?

Because here’s the deal: I’m never satisfied. Oh, I love it when I’m at the salon and the stylist whips off my smock and spins my chair around so I can get a good look at the new me. I smile and nod and tip big. Everything’s roses and gumdrops until I get home.

That’s when the fun starts. My poor husband. After I’ve grilled him incessantly on the state of my new do, I’ll find reasons to hate it. I mean HATE. It’s too short. It’s not me. I don’t like it blown dry, etc. Like that. And every strand has to be perfectly even.

That’s another thing. Why do stylists insist on blow-drying our hair? You know what I mean: Stretching it out with those round brushes, fluffing bangs that don’t want to be fluffed — that sort of thing. I hate that look on me. I feel like Mildred Pierce.

Blow-dries are probably “extra,” but I never ask. Before I can tell the stylist that I prefer my hair natural and air-dried because of the wave, she’s wielding that brush and drier like a rabid Sally Hersberger.

That’s probably why I go once a year. Also, I have haircut remorse big time. I prefer my hair on the long side but when it goes whack-a-doo on me, I decide it’s time for an upgrade and get four inches whacked off. Then, I immediately start growing it out.

I mentioned “cheap” in my sub-title. That’s because I used to try to save a few bucks by skipping the higher-end salons and trying neighborhood joints. That was my MO, even though hubby always pointed out the error of my ways. Being stubborn, I figured that, since my style was so low maintenance, anyone could do it!

Big mistake. Invariably, this is what would happen: I’d get home, realize that my head looked like it’d been put through a wood chipper and head on back to the same salon for a “fixer-upper.”

When again invariably, my hair looked even worse, I’d book an appointment at a “better” salon for a “better” stylist to make things right again.

What a disaster. I’d end up spending three times more than I would have if I just went to the more accomplished stylist first! Not to mention I’d have more hair left on my stupid head.

Now, I don’t know what to do. I’ve been pouring through hair-style magazines in search of the new me. But who am I kidding? I’ll probably go right back to the same old, same old. But it has to be right, you know?

Since I rarely get haircuts, I trim my own bangs. Just a little snip here and there. And I have to say, it’s satisfying AF. In fact, oftentimes, over the past few weeks, I’ve gathered my hair into a ponytail with one hand and with scissors in the other, have come very close to lopping it all off.

If not for the startled look on our cats’ faces, I’d probably do it. And then I’d probably want to cut my throat. Thank heaven they like to watch what Mommy’s up to in the john.

Still…I’m thinking about it. So I need some help here. Some rational thought. Part of me wants to just do it as procrastination is not a good look on me.

Tell me, please. Ladies, gents…shall I make the call? Or the cut?

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

I hope you enjoyed, my friends. If so, here’s more.

And please check out the other great writers in my pub, Rogues’ Gallery. I especially love this new one from Kristi Keller.