The Power of Good Hair

I am a bit hair obsessed.  You wouldn't know it if you just met me in the past 4 years, as my hair has spent most of it's time in a pony tail or under a ball cap, or both.  However, pre-Peanut, I treated myself to follicle pampering quite often.  And I was a risk taker.  In the past 15 years, my hair has been a bright red Caesar cut, strawberry blonde layered bob, strawberry blonde perm, long rocker blonde (which someone actually called a mullet to my face), blonde layers with pink highlights (Hugh Jackman's wife complemented me on that look), long straight auburn/brunette, short asymmetrical brunette (looked too much like my mom, nothing personal mom : / ), and finally long straight blonde with obvious natural blonde roots. I took risks because I trusted the people who's hands were transforming me.  For the past four years or so, I have received maybe 6 haircuts and many box colors. It's because I have become afraid to trust anyone again.  My hair/heart had been broken by a burly heterosexual hairstylist in NYC. When I would get out of his chair, I felt gorgeous, powerful and strong.  He left me, and the rest of his NYC clientele, to be with his kids in Omaha.  OMAHA?  Seriously.  This happened back in 2004, maybe even earlier.  I haven't been in love, with my hair, since. I have not felt the same way about my hairstylists since.  Not that they weren't talented people who did great work.  But just like the ex-boyfriend that you can't get over, I kept comparing everyone to him and couldn't move on.

I recently realized this had to change.  I finally made an appointment to cut and color my hair last week.  I had at least 5 inches of ashy, mousey blonde roots that were hideous.  The rest of my hair  was an almost platinum color that I received from a hair-color disaster this summer.  While playing Crissy in "Hair", I gladly colored my hair red at the director's request.  The next show, the director wanted me to be blonde again.  By the way, the second director was Husband.  Gentlemen do prefer blondes, in his case. The kind and hard working stylist did her best to strip all red without stripping hair from my scalp and the result, 12 hours later, was brassy platinum blonde.  So, here I am ready for a good hair experience.  I come home from my appointment and Husband says, "Whaddya think?"  I vacillate with my semi-positive response. He accuses  illuminates me that I never like my hair cuts and colors anymore.  WHAT?  I am that hard to please?  I thought about it for a minute.  Husband is right.  I haven't LOVED my hair since my burly Edward Scissorhands left to be a Nebraskan.  Time for a change in attitude. I called my recent stylist, who said I could come back in if I did not like it.  She was great!!! She made my color a little less brassy, even calling someone for advice.  Resourceful. I like that. Then she let me tell her what I really wanted with my cut, understood and did it. You see, when one only cuts their hair twice a year, once can lose touch with the proper vocabulary to even convey what they want.   She had done exactly what I asked the first visit, like all of the others before her.  It was me who couldn't get over my Cornhusker Stylist.  I finally let him and go and embraced a new possibility.  I walked out of that salon feeling like a million bucks.  That's the power of good hair.  It can change us.  I was long overdue. "Because I'm worth it!!!"