I took off this morning to see Kerry. A hairdresser and awesome lady who has been sculpting my hair on and off since I was about 14 years old. I tend to avoid her when my hair is long, because she doesn’t do foils; she does tips. This fascinates the women I tell, some of them don’t even know what tips are.
For those who are ignorant – ‘tips’ (think early Shane Warne) are when you have a plastic cap pulled down tight over your hair. The hairdresser then stabs at your scalp through it with a crochet hook and pulls little bits of hair through. The longer your hair, the higher the pain. So today wasn’t going to be a problem.
Hark!? What’s that?! A photo essay of my de-hairing. Sorry I don’t have a before-photo – well, I kind of do. My hair – cut by a local hack (I use that word advisedly) and then bleached horribly by my own self, has lived under a hat for the past three weeks, so this is as good as you’ll get…
And that is the hat I wore to see Kerry. Who looked under it and just shook her head, muttering something like, “You’ll never learn, will you? You’ll never learn…”
The horrors that I had wrought included patchy bleaching, meaning that she was unable to get my hair to be just one colour. She tried though! First she hacked it all off. I had taken her some photos I’d googled up. We chose one and she worked from that.
Here is the bit where she has done the whole cut and then shoved the hat down over my head. You can see she has pulled heapso hair through, because it’s about to become blonde-o-rama…
End result. Me looking rather bashfully at bathroom mirror. Feeling much better about myself. Because a change is as good as a holiday – and I’m about to have one of those too!