I dumped her.
Seated for the last time in the adjustable chair, I made up my mind: It just wasn’t working out anymore, and I was ready to move on. When she tried to schedule our next “date,” I blew her off with a classic jerk move:
“Well … I’m really busy this summer, so I don’t know when I can make it. I’ll call you, OK?”
And with that, I bid my hairdresser goodbye.
Oh, the secrecy! The betrayal! The guilt! She’d snipped and styled my tresses for years, listened to me blather on about my love life, and this is how I repay her?
I’m not alone here. Women generally do have an oddly loyal commitment to their hairstylist.
Consider: We spend maybe 45 minutes with them every eight weeks or so, some of it with our head tipped back in a sink or with the hair dryer blasting in our ears. Not exactly the backdrop for bosom buddy conversations, and yet something about beauty shops, gossip and noxious fumes from chemical-filled hair products makes a girl feel giddy.
But I guess women are oddly fickle too. The Dump wasn’t over talent or capability. It was simply time for someone new and exciting that might (literally) make my hairs stand on end. Why settle down too soon?
Breaking up is an unpleasant business. I don’t have a similar bond with my dentist, but it was just as difficult to dump him. He was too nice. The type of guy who’d fill a cavity and then call me at home to make sure I was feeling OK. Once I walked into the waiting room to find he’d burned CDs for his patients. (Would you prefer alternative or classic rock with your drilling today?)
But a discreet request to his office to forward my dental records triggered a campaign-style phone call from the dentist. “Why are you leaving us, Alison? What can I do to make you stay?” Using my most elusive, diplomatic tactics, I ducked him John Malkovich-style: “It’s beyond my control.”
My hairdresser wouldn’t pester me at home or hunt me down, but the whole affair felt awkward anyway. Are dating and hair all that dissimilar?
Months before The Dump, I’d let friends and co-workers know I was in the market again. I’d stop strangers on the street and ask who did their ‘dos. Many sympathized with me in that “Oh, honey, we’ve all been there” way. Seriously.
More Top Picks Sneakers
So by the break-up point, I had someone else in mind. Sure, another jerk move, but come on. Who ends a long-term relationship without surveying the field first? Salon waiting lists can be as long as Chicago winters spent alone.
After a decent interval of time, I called for an appointment. Procrastination played a part in the delay, perhaps a pang of guilt. But mostly I was worried. Nervous.
In my experience, curly haired women are notoriously paranoid about psycho stylists who “don’t get it” and leave them looking like Little Orphan Annie on a trip through the Florida Everglades in July.
Boing! Don’t laugh. I have many elementary and middle school yearbook pictures that underscore the point.
Thankfully, everything went well, no frizzy ‘fros in sight, and the cut–I hate to say it–is fabulous. (Yes, the f-word, which, while totally overused, is entirely germane in salon settings full of manicured women.)
Still, was I ready to be exclusive? What if I don’t like the second cut? Can I go back to my old stylist? What will I tell her?
Now that I’ve broadcast the news here, I guess it’s no longer an option. Plus I recently made a leap of faith, the type that comes with any new commitment.
Color highlights.
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It’s your turn
Dear hairdressers, do you feel betrayed
when a longtime client dumps you? Tell
Alison about it. [email protected]