My hairdresser is now vigilant and inspects customers’ heads for any signs of illegal styling. It has kept me away from her, despite my terrible barnet.
My hair has gone from being “unprofessional” and “downright disrespectful.” Each day passes since the salons reopened, making it even more disrespectful. Although I wish I could go back in time to spend some of the time booking tables outside of pubs on getting it cut I am not able to.
This lank barnet has affected my self-perception, and I now hate all of my clothes. I feel old, dowdy and scruffy. My clothes are stained and worn.
K, my friend who is constantly buying new stuff, raised the issue with me. She suggested some solutions, saying that she needed to think of three words to describe the look you wanted. “Bright? Fun? Fashionable? Chic? Elegant?”
Nope. None of these.
“Serious? Businesslike? Peppy?”
Ha. No. No.
“Maybe we should start with the hair.”
When I connected back to the hair network, I received disturbing news. The hairdresser has gone a bit lockdown-fundamentalist. If she suspects that you have had an illegal haircut she will berate you and deprive you of any future appointments.
She can see the ghost of your previous haircut even if it has been months since you were convicted. If she doesn’t know, she will assume that you have broken the rules. She acts as a forensic stylist and gives vigilante hair justice. It is a great way to get rid of stress, even though I feel as safe as houses.
It is a good thing to have stayed true to the rules during the pandemic. To have done anything else would have been to work with the virus, or worse Laurence Fox. But I prefer an after-effect that is full of celebration, regeneration, and not recrimination or judgment. This may mean that I must cut my hair myself. This will solve my vanity crisis.