I tend to move around a lot. In some ways I like to consider myself a hobo.
Okay maybe hobo is a bit too strong, how about nomad then. Is that any better?
Listen, the point is I almost never have any issues with packing my bags and heading out to a new destination. It really isn’t a big deal to me. I have been told that it is a symptom of my deep rooted and not yet properly dealt with fear of rejection and isolation issues from my childhood. Okay Dr. Phil, I think I just like to explore but okay.
I think everyone needs to stop over analyzing everything and just let me see the world. How bouh dah?
You know, it’s funny in a way because in the same breath I am an extreme hoarder with a crucial inability to let go of anything or move on once I get comfortable. I love my familiar zones – places, people, habits, stuff like that.
So you see? Am I really suffering from pent up rejection and isolation issue?
Anyways, I have digressed. I was going to tell you about the trouble with finding a new hairdresser each time I’m in a new place.
As you may or may not know my hair is natural, which means unrelaxed, and in all its 4C glory. Which as you probably already know can be quite a problem.
I can’t wear my hair out in the open for too long without fighting the urge to put a scissors thru it and call it a day.
Why am I telling you all this?
Recently, I had a wedding to attend and it was demanded that I look well…..presentable.
Ignoring my instincts and because my friends swore by all the gods, I went to a new unchattered hairdresser with my weave in hand.
I showed him what I wanted and he nodded in agreement. He seemed like he had actually grasped what I had said so I held my breath and prayed for the best.
About 45 mins later, it became apparent that;
1) He didn’t understand me
2) My prayers didn’t go very far.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror I let out a sigh and smiled in agreement to the fake “the hair fine die” and “E fit you o” that flew across the room.
If I have to be honest the finished product wasn’t that bad. It was quite fine actually but here’s the thing…
….it wasn’t what I wanted.
I had spent most of the day on my feet and moving around so I was exhausted and in no mood to argue.
I paid him, thanked him and left.
Two days after the wedding I took the hair out whilst crying soft, heartfelt tears for my money that will never be recovered.
I have been here before. More times than I care to count and it almost always ends with me angry, and a few bucks poorer.
In the spirit of not wasting my time and money I have decided to go in the way of wigs.
I have never worn or fancied them. Growing up if I heard the word “wig” I would instantly imagine an elderly woman with thinning hair and no edges. Wearing that horse hair looking cap and always ready to tell on me when I was caught doing something I shouldn’t.
But, times have changed.
And there’s a new trend of beautifully crafted, actually beautiful and actually wearable wigs.
And even tho I probably won’t be able to whip my hair as freely and often as I might. I yearn for the duality of looking fabulous all day and tossing said “fabulousity” at the end of each day.