In 1992, I divorced my hairdresser. I had seen her for 10 years, at least that is the several
this was my basic hair cut, I found Martha because people always said I looked like her
years I remember quoting over and over when talking about our marriage.
At first, I was delighted to meet her. She was a very good beautician, my hair was always angled precisely the way I wanted it, or saw it in the photograph I brought in. Coloring was also done exactly as I envisioned.
The hairdresser did not talk much; in fact she always looked a little down. Always put together to a T, perfect hair, matching socks, bracelets, and blouses, but kind of monotone. Even when expressing something delightful like buying a house, which she did one day, she looked straight at me and her lips moved, but they did not hit the crack of her cheek.
I don’t remember what we talked about during our monthly meetings for ten years. But I do remember, how in my naiveté, I was excited when she invited me to her house-warming party. I went to a lot of trouble to attend, it was a hot summer day, after having toured upstate NY in some brutal heat, I drove over to her new home.
I thought I would be met with lots of fellow clients, but it was her coworkers and her new husband. Her husband who was going before a judge the following Monday and asked me, since it was my father, would I put in a good word for him.
That should have y put the kibosh on the relationship, me and the hairdresser, but it didn’t. I actually felt a certain loyalty to her, like I could not possibly go somewhere else, even though I did get tired of her telling me I’d never change and I’d never, ever grow my hair out. Here I was only in my late 20s and all washed up, so to speak.
One day, I had a paradigm shift, a whole complete rejuvenation and I decided to grow my hair out. That is when the marriage ended, I just could not go to someone who did not believe I could do it!
And then, after that, I simply could not keep a commitment with any one hairdresser. I did not trust I could feel independent staying in one chair…what if I wanted to have my hair streaked white or dyed black? I’d have to explain myself the next time I sat in the chair.
It wasn’t that I have not tried for one of those committed deals once in a while. But inevitably, after a while, a stylist would say, well you simply cannot do that with your hair, it just won’t work. Sianara sweetheart, I left the chair.
I often wandered aimlessly from shop to shop and this has led to some unique problems. One time I had my hair cut three times within one week in trying to get the look from In Style.
I have also started noticing that when I sit down at a new hair dressers station, I am learning their whole life story. It is amazing what people can cover in 20 minutes. I am a consummate talker and listener, but I believe that station time is my time and after a day at work or listening to other people’s problems, I just want to sit there and feel the tranquility that can go with having your hair cleaned, trimmed, and dried by someone else.
I have heard about a number of house burnings, gardens, alcoholics, parties, dog neutering, and former hairdressers, all by just uttering the word good after being asked how I my day was progressing.
I have even noticed that sometimes, while my hair, the hair I have to live with in a possible Facebook picture is being cut, is playing 2nd scissors and those bangs I wanted an inch are now ½ inch as the beautician finishes up her story.
Like in all relationships, lack of finding a good fit and sticking with it, has its disadvantages. But I’m sticking to my story, at least for now.
©claireaperez@gmail.com
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