James had a haircut about a month ago. I went with him and did my best to explain what he wanted. I also tried to leave something up to the stylist because he wanted it to fit in more with the styles here. I asked the guy to leave his hair long but give it some style. He asked me if James wanted classic and I said, "no, something different." This was how the guy interpreted "long":
James' cut made me more afraid after I had been unable to get my point across. However, last night, I finally summoned the courage to go for a trim. I had asked my friend what the words were for "bangs" and "to thin out." I had them written down in my little Simpsons notebook and I was ready to go.
One of my salon options was the Isaac Mizrahi salon near our old apartment. It has pink marbled wall paper with gold accents. I know Isaac has been branching out recently (Liz Claiborne, his line at Target, and now his new show on Bravo), but I'm pretty sure this place was in no way affiliated with the real Isaac Mizrahi. As enticing as it was, I opted for another salon.
Luckily, there were no problems with the trim, and the bangs look fairly normal again. I'm not sure if my experience was standard or not. I had splurged and also went for the wash and blow dry. I was looking forward to a little time alone and a little pampering. An older woman brought me over to the sink to wash my hair. She shampooed it three times. I didn't know if she thought it was especially dirty or if that was supposed to be a treat. Normally, that is my favorite part of a haircut because you usually get a head massage as you are shampooed. Instead, I was having flashbacks of being tossed around in the tub with my sisters while getting a good scrub down. She old lady was pulling my head around and vigorously rubbing the shampoo into my scalp. She let my hair fall all over in my face and made no efforts to avoid getting soap and water on my face. I wanted to laugh out loud, but then I remembered that I was paying for that.
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