How do I describe the feeling of having fixed my hair to its somewhat normal state for the first time in nearly 2 weeks after the haircut?
It’s like being given a new lease of life after an unexpected, gruesome demise.
It’s like thinking wrinkles and age spots won’t ever happen to you and then one horrifying day in your early 40s, waking up to find them starting to invade your youthful skin. And then living with their growing community for years. And one miraculous day, a saviour (God? Plastic surgeon?) comes around with new skin for you and your much-desired (but not cherished) youth is restored.
You may think I’m being unnecessarily dramatic, bimbotic and vain. But let me tell you this, beauty is not overrated. People judge you by your appearance everyday, every minute, no matter what you do. And unless you are spectacularly genius like Einstein or Newton or Chaplin (who are, by the way, mentally deranged in their own ways, proving the idiocy of discriminating against mental people), your looks will always be factored into your perceived potential. Good looks are, by far, the quickest way to pick up your confidence and self-esteem.
When you meet an ex, for example, or just anyone for that matter. There is a reason why someone said: “Looking good is the best revenge.” I can’t remember who. Looking good probably won’t you help feel better about your breakup but looking like something the cat chewed and dragged in will definitely make you feel worse.
And anyway, my main gripe about the disaster the hairdresser has made of my hair is that it isn’t me. I look in the mirror and I can’t find myself in my reflection. I am apparently almost unrecognizable to friends. Joel ran into me last night and he had to take a while to make sure it’s Valerie from Sheares. “God, what did you do to your hair?” Or something like that. I am even having trouble choosing clothes to wear because they don’t match my hair! My personality! I feel robbed of my identity. And of course, this translates to being late for work everyday.
From now on, nobody comes near my fringe except me, or a very experienced and qualified stylist specializing in fringes.