I got my haircut recently for Locks of Love. My hair was getting really long and my babies were getting really good with their hands.
So I went into the salon and picked up one of their style books to try and figure out how I wanted my hair. I knew I would have to cut it pretty short in order to meet the required 10 inches for Locks of Love so I was looking in the short hair category. I was totally paranoid that if I cut my hair this short I would look like either a butch girl who never wore a ribbon in her life or your typical mormon housewife and her bouffant with the flip. I was surprised to see so many fun, funky haircuts as options. What is it with these books that they hire these gorgeous super models and give them these ridiculously edgy haircuts. Your thinking to yourself, “Well she looks really good. I would love to look as good as she does. It really draws attention to her nice bone structure and makes her eyes pop! Oh, wait, I guess I should focus on the haircut. Well that cut looks a little someone gave their preschooler scissors and access to a passed out undergrad but she looks really pretty with it. Maybe it would look as nice on me as it does on her. I want that cut. (and those eyes, and those cheekbones, etc.)” Wait, you don’t get the whole package! Just the part where the preschooler had scissors.
So I pick one of these edgy cuts anyways. Shoot, I’m young enough to pull it off. As sad of a commentary on our academic excellence as this is, there are plenty of undergrads my age. I realize that my eyes don’t pop but my bone structure is pretty good and my neck is nice. So edgy cut it is. Plus, I’m the mother of 4 kids at an age when most of my peers are just getting married. I’m not promiscuous, just incredibly fertile. I could go for a haircut that makes me feel more my age and less 10 years older than I am. And let me tell you this cut that I chose was stick straight with an incredible amount of razor layers. And I thought that it would be freeing to get rid of all that “elegant” hair for something with spunk.
The stylist was friendly and we had a nice chat about eighties movies (she’s never seen 16 Candles, Better Off Dead, or Girls Just Wanna Have Fun but she likes Goonies and Ferris Buellers Day Off. This was a topic that she brought up but couldn’t go too far with.) And at the end of the cut she even offered to style it for me, for free (it was late on a weeknight and there was no one else there.) Well I knew I was in trouble the minute she started ratting my hair. The girl in the picture DEFINATLEY did NOT rat her hair. And then when she started to flip the ends, I wanted to cry. When she was done I looked at myself in the mirror, then looked at the girl in the picture, then looked at myself in the mirror. She made me look like a mormon mother of 4. “I can do my hair like the model in the picture, right?” “Umm, yeah.” I was worried at that point that I made her confused. I think that she thought she HAD made my hair look like the model in the picture. I’m not lying when I say that the picture lady had these funky stick straight layers and I had a poofy top and flipped bottom. I tipped her and went home.
Now, I’m not the type to actually cry over a haircut. I’m just not that attached to my hair. I think my parents are partially responsible for that for the Annie cut and perm of ’81. I wasn’t thrilled but I was sure that I could make this cut work. I walked into my house to hear my son say “Mommy, what did those people do to you?” followed a little later with the comment “Daddy and me liked you pretty.”
Fortunately I really don’t let the comments of my child affect my self-esteem. But I did have to chuckle that he included his father in the whole thing. Like can’t you just see my husband having a little conversation with my four year old. “Man! Mommy looks ugly! I sure liked her better when she was pretty, how about you? (nod) You go tell her (no, you tell her) No, you go tell her.” What kind of spineless husband would that be to have your four year old do all the dirty work.