Right before we left for Paris, I got a haircut. It's my favorite haircut in the world, and after having long and short and everything-in-between-hair over the past few years, I feel like this is the best one for me (yes, Mom, you were right).
I couldn't believe how long my hair had gotten -- my stylist Samantha cut off 10 inches! I was so excited to finally be able to donate it for the first time -- and finally not have to worry about it getting caught on my purse straps/seatbelt/in my armpits while I'm sleeping. #longhairproblems, am I right?
It was my first time getting my hair cut professionally in more than three years, if you can believe that. And I have to say it felt cool to be taking part in this ritual of stereotypical femaleness. I simultaneously felt like an anthropologist, and like I really belonged to something that felt old and historic and community-based in a romantic, nostalgic way.
I don't know if it's just my amazing salon, but it feels like getting your hair done has become a self-care experience. The shampoo chair was also one of those mechanized massagers; the receptionist made me a pot of herbal tea. Everybody was so nice. I loved it. Not to mention I love my haircut.
I also liked the woman who cut my hair, Samantha. She's my age and was just really laidback. We chatted a little bit, and then I sat in comfortable silence while she worked on my hair. It might be because I'm an introvert, but there's always been a little extra stress to getting my hair done professionally -- this expectation of gossip and sharing and conversation with whoever's cutting your hair. (I feel like I should couch this in admitting that it does feel a little silly, especially once I see it in writing. But oh well.)
So I'm curious to know -- what's your relationship like with whoever cuts your hair? What do you talk about? Do you look forward to it?