Sometimes you get what you pay for - sometimes you get a lot less.
I’ve been going to the Biba Academy to get my hair cut since I’ve lived here. Like the Aveda School, they’re generally good and all supervised - I’ve gotten one relative dog of a haircut, but whatever.
My hair’s pretty easy to cut - being stick straight and all - and the uptick in Australian salon prices is one of the few cost adjustments I just haven’t gotten used to. (My housemate, Kass, and I now judge the price of big ticket items in terms of how many of her accidental $200 haircuts they cost. For instance, a pair of $150 boots are only 3/4 the price of a haircut. Sold!)
But I’m making more money now, so I thought about treating myself to the lifestyle of those not living off student loans. But in the end, I figured, what was the harm? I’d have them keep it long, and if I didn’t like it, I could go somewhere more expensive in a couple weeks.
So much for that.
Despite my exhortations to keep it longish, but to take some length off the back and generally cut into it to keep it interesting, I am now NOT the proud owner of about two-thirds of my hair.
I have to take my glasses off during haircuts, so it’s always like my own little version of an Extreme Makeover reveal when I put them back on. I can see shapes, however, and I could tell that this was going a bit weird.
We got to the end of the cut and it was pretty blunt and conservative. So her supervisor and I were both like, “Okay, add some layers and break up the line.”
Suddenly, there was lots more cutting. (And pulling, jesus she was like removing follicles to razor my hair). Getting nervous, I joked, “Heh. Better watch out or I’m not going to have much hair left,” as she continued her flurry of inspiration.
About a minute later, I was done joking. “You need to stop cutting. Now.”
The long and the short of it (mostly short) is that my ‘keep it long just in case it’s not what you want plan’ is stuffed. And the front won’t stay behind my ear enough to stay in my helmet, so biking is going to be a joy. Not even Sunny’s grilled pork sandwich has rallied my flagging spirits.
I was having a chat with Avi the other day about how even if we made it super rich, we wouldn’t live in crazy flash houses and the like. We’d be able to live the same or a little bit better and just work way less. (Avi did, however, want one Lamborghini).
Apparently, Pluto, god of money, doesn’t see it the same way. I feel I’ve been punished for considering vaguely excessive expenditure and then rejecting it.
Well, at least I have no split ends. (That, of course, would be impossible considering there is not a single hair on my head that avoided losing several inches of its length.)
Actually, I can sum up the haircut in one quick moment. She went to get a mirror to show me the back, but then stood directly behind me, making it impossible to see anything. I kept trying to get her to move to the side so I could engage in this pointless activity (there was no chance I was letting her back at my head even if it’d been weird), but she just kept standing there. I was literally waving my arms to the right, trying to get her to move, but to no avail. I was like, “Okay, it’s fine. Where’s my coat?”
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