Carpe Diem: Haircut Edition

This week, I did something very uncharacteristic. I walked into a salon -- well, more like a SuperCuts -- and asked for a haircut. I conducted minimal research beforehand (only a few guys had reviewed the place on Yelp) and I made NO appointment.

If you're a woman, this is more or less CRAZY.

Things that suck when moving to a new city? Trick question. Many, many things. But among the most annoying are finding a new doctor, a dentist, and a person that cuts your hair. It took me three years to find Camden, my previous stylist in DC, who I stayed with for five and a half years. We used to chat about music and beer and tattoos. I trusted him completely AND I could be myself. 

I knew finding my new Camden would not be easy, so I avoided trying at all. Over Christmas in New Jersey, Alex's sister -- a killer stylist -- kindly gave me a bonafide kitchen cut that tided me over. But five months later, I looked a little rough around the edges and desperately needed a trim. It was finally time for a St. Louis haircut.

Voila! 

Before and after.

First of all, I hate selfies, so forgive my expression. Second, despite chopping off approximately three inches in the middle of the workday, none of my coworkers noticed. They're mostly dudes, but still. They have eyes. Third, I forget why this was a list. Moving on.

My haircut is nothing groundbreaking. I like it, and I liked the woman who cut my hair. I just didn't feel that.... spark, for lack of a better word. Convenience and price were big perks, though, and it felt great to just get a haircut without much fuss. I'll probably go back a second time.

Still, here's my general complaint about getting a haircut. If you're even mildly tomboyish (I am) and you walk into most any salon, you can end up feeling like barely a woman.

"All you do is blow dry your hair?"

"Yup, that's it."

"What products do you use?"

"Shampoo and conditioner."

"Are you, in fact, a woman at all?"

"I think so...?"

That's why I tend to look for places where stylists are tattooed, pierced, and alternative. These people get it.

Yes, I am a woman. No, I only spend 5 minutes "doing" my hair. Now please help me look pretty.

Haircut Philosophy

Today has been both a lazy and productive day. In accordance with the gods, I'm feeling like I'm coming down with a cold of some sort. Each Thanksgiving I tend to come down with something whether it be the pneumonia + bronchitis + lung infection triple threat of 2nd grade or just a simple sinus infection. But here I am with my sick voice and roll of toilet paper ready to blow my nose.

I'm feeling pretty good though. This morning I biked to Bang Salon on U Street for my pre-Thanksgiving haircut. In the past, haircuts have been mildly traumatic experiences. I'd endure split ends for months at a time just so I could go to my stylist at home. But since I haven't been home in over a year, I decided to buck up and face my fears.

I usually feel out of place and under dressed at salons. My t-shirts and Nike Dunks are out of place among ladies with manicured nails and high heels. I suck it up though, because these are the places where I feel like I can come away with a good haircut. Still, I can tell that the stylists are a little confused by me. They're not sure what kind of conversation to start with me and combined with my initial reservedness, silence inevitably ensues. This problem was solved by stylist at home, who is conveniently the mom of a girl I went to school with since the 4th grade. Ten years worth of talking material!

While at Georgetown, I'd occasionally get a haircut from my sister's stylist. Moshi made me nervous with his shaky hands and I endured some awkward conversation, but his cuts always turned out fine. Then in London, both money and apprehension kept me from the scissors for a bit. The hipster places in Spitalfields intimidated me. I could shop confidently in the cool record stores there, but was not alternative enough for Pimps and Pinups. After all, I was neither pimp nor pinup. Finally I caved in and went to a place in Soho where I paid a small fortune for a trim and peace of mind.

Flash forward to the present. My stylist has more tattoos than he can count and his flat iron is decorated with a skull and crossbones pattern. Bang Salon has the perfect mix of traditional and hip. Lawyers and rock star types get their hair cut here, and somewhere in the middle is me. I feel comfortable, which has contributed to an unusually high frequency of haircuts since June.

So to everyone that dreads haircuts, for everyone that dreads that awkward mandatory conversation with their stylist, go out and find a new one. That was a long tangent that began with Thanksgiving and ended with haircuts, but I hope it was mildly entertaining. Hope everyone has a good weekend.