I wanted to see Philippe so bad. I met him four years earlier, and he changed my life from the first time I saw him. Gone were the days of being let down and disappointed by others. This man was different. I loved him, and he made me feel beautiful for about fifty dollars a haircut. But I was beginning to have some problems with Philippe. The forty-minute drive each way to the salon was too much for me. Philippe had several clients, which made it more and more difficult to get an appointment. It took at least a week to ten days to get in. I couldn’t wait that long; I was anxious. Besides, the last few times I went to him, I was less than happy with my hair-raising results. Plus, he had raised his prices. After thinking it over, I decided maybe it was time for me to move on. These things happen. Surely he can’t be the only decent hairstylist around.
But where would I go? Who could I turn to in my time of need? I thought of my good friend, Blythe. Blythe worked part time at a different hair salon only five minutes from my house. Her hair always looked fantastic! I decided to try her stylist, Leslie. To my surprise, I got an appointment that evening. It was just what I needed, a quick fix for ten dollars less and conveniently located! What more could I ask for?
When I arrived at the salon, I saw an average looking woman getting up out of the chair with the most amazing hair! Music played. She was like a shampoo commercial. She moved in slow motion. Her gorgeous locks shone like the sun. Her hair bounced around like a boat on rough seas. I stood in awe and stepped back out of her way as if some invisible force had pushed me aside – half blinded by the shine.
Suddenly, the needle scratched off of the record, the music stopped, and I was awakened from my dream. “Hi! I’m Leslie! You must be Joy!” (“Oh! Hallelujah!” I thought. “I haven’t made a mistake coming here!”) “Yes, I’m Joy! I want to look like that!” I hastily explained as I was pointing out to the parking lot at the bouncy – haired blond who was still moving in slow motion. “That’s just what I had in mind!”
“Great! Leslie chimed. “Let’s just have a look here. She picked it out of this magazine. Here it is! Is this what you want?” I looked at the photo of the airbrushed supermodel with the sexy mane. “Yep! That’s it! I want sassy, super sexy hair!” “Great!” She said, again, and so it began.
She took me back to the sinks for my favorite part: the shampooing. She scrubbed sweet smelling shampoo into my hair, massaged my head into oblivion, rinsed and conditioned.
Next she blow-dried my hair all the while explaining that my hair needed to be dry for this particular style that I wanted. Her scissored fingers flew in a frantic frenzy. She pulled the front of my hair down to the tip of my nose and snipped.
I instantly felt my eyes bulge and swell up with tears. I swallowed them back trying to recall our previous discussion. I distinctly remembered requesting my bangs to be chin-length, not fresh-above-the-nose length. From there, it just got worse.
Thirty minutes later, it was over. I looked awful. I was devastated, destroyed. It looked nothing like her previous client’s! It looked nothing like the magazine. My hair looked like she blindly took an electric hand mixer to my head in some sort of act of revenge or cultic sacrifice. She asked if I liked it. I was in shock and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Once again, I choked back my tears and tried to remain calm. “I have bangs.” I whispered quietly. I ran my fingers through what was left of my hacked hair. Half of it was gone. She thinned out my already thin hair!! The sides barely covered my ears! Thirty-five minutes earlier they, along with my bangs, came down to my chest. I stood up, turned around and grasped the hand mirror to view the back. It was worse than I thought. I had three long hairs that hung down about four to five inches longer than the rest. I had an 80’s flashback on my head – bi-level with a tail it seemed. I never should have left Phillipe.
By: Joy Kalke
Photo By: Bobby Ray
