Meditations on Momhair
Some women arrive at the salon with a clear vision of what they are looking for. They have detailed instructions for the stylist, complete with visual aids. These are the women who understand hair. They know what looks good, and even more importantly, they know how to achieve that. They have an arsenal of product in their bathrooms, and are smiled upon by the many armed appliance goddess. And then there are the women who break out in a cold sweat at the very idea of of sitting in the stylist’s chair. Women who are left tonguetied, staring like a deer in headlights when faced with the question: What are we doing today?
Guess which category I fall into.
I had no real idea what I wanted when I walked into the salon. All I knew was I didn’t want the hair on my head, but I also didn’t want a repeat of the “70s lesbian punk rock shag” disaster. And that I was somewhat at a loss as to how to keep that from happening without devolving into momhair. The sum total of my contribution to the consultation was, “I want it shorter, but I want to keep some of the length. But I don’t want momhair. I’m a solo mom with 2 kids, and I work as a substitute teacher; I don’t have a lot of time to fuss around with a hairstyle. I’d like something wash and wear, but not momhair. Oh, and I’m not very good with the whole blowdrying thing, either.”
I’m sure I was her favourite client ever.
Tanya was a pretty good sport about it though, making suggestions and genuinely listening to my tales of hairstyling ineptitude as she tried to achieve a short, sassy, sophisticated cut that I could actually cope with. I was thrilled with just about everything she did, including the bangs, which were a late addition. In the orignal incarnation, the hair at the front had all been left the same lenght, and a fairly large strand kept getting in my face. When I pointed this out, Tanya’s explanation was “I left it long like that so that you’d have the option of tucking it behind your ear.” “But, the whole point of the haircut was to eliminate the tucked behind the ear thing!” I protested. “If you leave it like this, I give it a day before I’m back to stealing my 7 year old daughter’s headbands.” Tanya agreed that tthat was a fate worse than momhair. Hence, the bangs, much though I was looking to avoid them. Bangs have never been my friend, always too heavy and overpowering my face. These bangs though! Are light! And wispy! The bangs I’d given up all hope of ever having. And now I do!
I’m still in the getting used to it stage, where you catch a glimpse in a window and don’t quite recognize yourself, but do know that you approve of that woman’s hair. We’re in that fresh from the salon honeymoon period; I haven’t washed it yet, thereby requiring me to replicate Tanya’s magic on my own. I’m a little nervous about that–there was a hairdryer, a round brush and a flat iron involved, but Tanya assured me that even if I just wash it and leave it alone, it should be ok.
I guess I’ll just have to try it and find out. Here’s hoping it doesn’t suddenly morph into momhair. If it does, I’ve got a supply of mulitcoloured hairbands at the ready.