life is not hair

i'm starting to look like daniel radcliffe if he were a rock star. i decide to see a gay hairstylist. the only reason i mention that he's gay is that the person he is recommended by keeps saying, "he's gay," while covering her mouth and whispering. "the girls make fun of him." she adds.

the "gay man" walks out. he introduces himself. he is mr. rogers if he were gay. i don't feel comfortable around this man. he's too nice. he's too NOT GAY. he's cautious with my hair like this is maybe his first try. he washes it, "is this too cold? is this too warm?" no complaints from me. as long as you don't shave my hair off i'm comfortable.

this haircut is not going okay. he barely cuts any hair. "excuse me, can you try and cut my hair? i can see that recorder behind you playing that snip-snip-snip noise. yeah, thanks." this time i watch him carefully. he's REALLY cutting my hair. it's better. getting better. i think.

he's done. he's blowing dry my hair. i look like tammy faye baker. this is not okay. "um, yeah...can i have a regular hairstyle, please? i'm not an old lady. i'm not mary tyler-moore!!" i think about saying this but instead i see he's fixing it. he can feel the burn from my gaze. i stare him down.

the conversation makes me uncomfortable. it's not okay to hit children. how can you not know who johnny depp is? you haven't seen amelie? you went to new jersey? this is a disaster.

one big breath and i'm out of there. my mom doesn't scream at me because "i look just like her." this is not okay.
 
¶ 1:49 AM |