It takes me a long time to do my hair. Like… a LOOOOOONG time. It’s basically an all weekend ordeal.
Day one consists of detangling. On day two, I wash and condition and put the deep conditioner in overnight. And on day three, I’m washing out the deep conditioner and continuing with the long process of blowdrying (maybe) and straightening. 😐
But I wouldn’t have it any other way because I refuse to step foot into another salon.
Every time I go, it’s a gamble. “Will they overprocess my hair?” “Will she put too much heat in it?” “Will he rake through the tangles and rip out hair instead of taking time to care for each strand?”
And the question that brings me the most anxiety—“So… you want a trim as well?” 🙄
I walked inside and told the beautician (and I use that word very loosely), “I want a relaxer. And for the finished look, you can just straighten it in a down style, but I want volume.”
The relaxer was fine, and the shampoo/conditioner process went well; but when I sat back in the styling chair, I saw a scissors in the lady’s hand. 😡
“I didn’t ask for a trim,” I said with a quickness.
She responded, “But you have a lot of split ends that I need to get rid of. You won’t be able to tell the difference in length.”
Famous last words… (And a side note: a lot of stylists don’t know the difference between split ends and uneven hair. And that’s a HUGE difference.)
Anyways, she spinned my chair around so that I can see the finished look, and I almost laughed to stop from crying. 😥
Apparently my original request of: “…for the finished look, you can just straighten it in a down style, but I want volume” got translated into: “please hack my hair off and add tight little granny curls all over my head.” 😯
Horrified does not even begin to describe the feeling. And then there was what I like to call the “salon walk of shame.”
I had to get out of my chair with this little bird-like style on top of my head, walk past the patrons of Wal-Mart (who I’m sure were convinced never to go to that salon after seeing my finished look), and head to my car… with yet even more people to see this craptastic look I was flaunting.
Oh the shame… the embarrassment… NEVER again.
And this is just one of many stories of me getting my hair chopped off without my consent, leaving with a hideous hairstyle, or having to argue with the stylist about what tools to use in my hair.
Big ups for the people who found a good salon or stylist that they trust, but this girl right here is through with the trial and error. If I want it done correctly, I have to do it myself. 😉