Fringe Benefits.
Oh my God! I decided to cut my hair today and wait for it.......... I am now the owner of a brand new fringe. Now I understand this may not sound like interesting news to anyone else but me but please, allow me to elaborate.
It all started about about six months ago when I was having my hair done for a play that I was in. My character was supposed to be in her late forties or early fifties and so it was necessary for me to age myself up.When the hair dresser in question was putting up my hair she suddenly turned to me and said without any malice at all "Oh my God, the wrinkles on your forehead are fantastic. How the hell did you get them to look so realistic?" She was absolutely mortified when I whispered "Em, they are actually my own wrinkles, I haven't done my make-up yet". We both started at each other in horror.
Ever since I cannot stop looking in the mirror and studying the depths of these lines that I had never even noticed before that day.
Fast forward to earlier this week to when I was getting Andrew's hair cut and I turned to my regular hairdresser and said, "Will you book me in for Saturday to get some highlights done please?" She turned to me slowly and said what she has obviously been building up to for sometime, "I'm going to be honest with you Rachael and tell you that your days of just high lighting your hair to cover the grey are long gone. You need to go for a full colour. Sorry to have to be the one to tell you."
So there it is - well meaning people who are basically strangers telling me what everyone else has been afraid to. I am looking a bit tired and old and it is about time that I did something about it.
Seeing as I can't afford botox I decided to kill two birds with the one stone and get a full colour and a fringe cut at the same time (a fringe to hide my wrinkles). This is a monumental decision for me as if you know me at all , you will know that I am the most unadventurous person in the world when it comes to my appearance. In fact, bar the GHD hair straightener , I don't think that I have changed my hair significantly in any way at all since I was about fifteen years old. I would not be surprised if my epitaph reads 'Here lies Rachael who died at 93 years of age - she never once changed her hair. (I am choosing the age 93 to die at as I feel that it allows me to still be relaxed and not get up off my arse and do stuff as I have nearly sixty years left in which to do stuff in. Also I am hoping that seeing as the kids will be in their sixties themselves, they won't need me as much so I wont feel any guilt for uping and dying and leaving them. Parenthood is just one big game of guilt right up until the end if you ask me).
My hairdresser Eve was shocked when I told her of my plans as she has been cutting and colouring my hair for about ten years now and knows what I want so well, she could probably do it blindfolded and with a bread knife. She was also thrilled to see me venturing away from the subtle blonde highlights and just about an inch off the ends please staple haircut of mine.
"Deep breath Rachael" she said as she seized a clump of my hair before I could change my mind and snip; she handed me about seven inches of hair. I looked in the mirror and gasped. "I don't like it", I said immediately, "Put it back" I pleaded holding out the strands of hair to her. "You'll get used to it" she laughed and before I knew it every hairdresser in the place was crowding around me ooing and aahing their approval. "Oh it really suits you". "It takes about ten years off you". "Oh, I love it!"
Now this sort of thing terrifies me. I have been a victim of many a bad hair cut in the past and the one thing that they all have in common is about twenty other hairdressers standing around me and insisting that unsymmetrical, orange hair is all in vogue at the moment. It's almost as though they truly believe that they can convince you that crap is good.
Still, I was getting used to it a little now that it had been styled and blow dried and I can always grow it again I reckoned. I thanked Eve and paid leaving a big tip (Why do I always feel compelled to leave a tip whether I am happy with a service or not? I once left a ten Euro tip for a beautician who waxed half of my eye brow off. If ever my family all agree that my madness has become too much and I need help, it is the first thing that I am going to ask the psychologist).
I left the hairdressers and made my was up the town where I bumped into two friends that I haven't seen in a while. Both of them stopped and exclaimed how great I was looking and asked had I done something to myself as they couldn't quite put their finger on what was different. " I cut a fringe" I confessed and they mutually praised my decision and said how amazing I looked. Okay, the praise was a bit excessive but my fragile ego was lapping it up and so despite the fact that I was still jumping with fright every time I caught a glance of myself in a shop window wondering who the stranger looking back at me was, this whole fringe thing was slowly starting to grow on me (pardon the pun).
I arrived home and hubby came out to greet me at the car. His first words were an emphatic"I like it!". "Really?" I said relived, "Oh I'm so glad. I wasn't sure at first but it's really starting to grow on me. Does it make me look younger do you think?" "Oh it does, it does" Hubby nodded approvingly.
Ah! My heart was light, my ego had re inflated until I walked in the door and Andrew took one look at me and said"Oh mummy, what's wrong with you? You look so yucky today" and Charlotte promptly burst into tears.
Anyone know how long it takes to grow a fringe out?
It all started about about six months ago when I was having my hair done for a play that I was in. My character was supposed to be in her late forties or early fifties and so it was necessary for me to age myself up.When the hair dresser in question was putting up my hair she suddenly turned to me and said without any malice at all "Oh my God, the wrinkles on your forehead are fantastic. How the hell did you get them to look so realistic?" She was absolutely mortified when I whispered "Em, they are actually my own wrinkles, I haven't done my make-up yet". We both started at each other in horror.
Ever since I cannot stop looking in the mirror and studying the depths of these lines that I had never even noticed before that day.
Fast forward to earlier this week to when I was getting Andrew's hair cut and I turned to my regular hairdresser and said, "Will you book me in for Saturday to get some highlights done please?" She turned to me slowly and said what she has obviously been building up to for sometime, "I'm going to be honest with you Rachael and tell you that your days of just high lighting your hair to cover the grey are long gone. You need to go for a full colour. Sorry to have to be the one to tell you."
So there it is - well meaning people who are basically strangers telling me what everyone else has been afraid to. I am looking a bit tired and old and it is about time that I did something about it.
Seeing as I can't afford botox I decided to kill two birds with the one stone and get a full colour and a fringe cut at the same time (a fringe to hide my wrinkles). This is a monumental decision for me as if you know me at all , you will know that I am the most unadventurous person in the world when it comes to my appearance. In fact, bar the GHD hair straightener , I don't think that I have changed my hair significantly in any way at all since I was about fifteen years old. I would not be surprised if my epitaph reads 'Here lies Rachael who died at 93 years of age - she never once changed her hair. (I am choosing the age 93 to die at as I feel that it allows me to still be relaxed and not get up off my arse and do stuff as I have nearly sixty years left in which to do stuff in. Also I am hoping that seeing as the kids will be in their sixties themselves, they won't need me as much so I wont feel any guilt for uping and dying and leaving them. Parenthood is just one big game of guilt right up until the end if you ask me).
My hairdresser Eve was shocked when I told her of my plans as she has been cutting and colouring my hair for about ten years now and knows what I want so well, she could probably do it blindfolded and with a bread knife. She was also thrilled to see me venturing away from the subtle blonde highlights and just about an inch off the ends please staple haircut of mine.
"Deep breath Rachael" she said as she seized a clump of my hair before I could change my mind and snip; she handed me about seven inches of hair. I looked in the mirror and gasped. "I don't like it", I said immediately, "Put it back" I pleaded holding out the strands of hair to her. "You'll get used to it" she laughed and before I knew it every hairdresser in the place was crowding around me ooing and aahing their approval. "Oh it really suits you". "It takes about ten years off you". "Oh, I love it!"
Now this sort of thing terrifies me. I have been a victim of many a bad hair cut in the past and the one thing that they all have in common is about twenty other hairdressers standing around me and insisting that unsymmetrical, orange hair is all in vogue at the moment. It's almost as though they truly believe that they can convince you that crap is good.
Still, I was getting used to it a little now that it had been styled and blow dried and I can always grow it again I reckoned. I thanked Eve and paid leaving a big tip (Why do I always feel compelled to leave a tip whether I am happy with a service or not? I once left a ten Euro tip for a beautician who waxed half of my eye brow off. If ever my family all agree that my madness has become too much and I need help, it is the first thing that I am going to ask the psychologist).
I left the hairdressers and made my was up the town where I bumped into two friends that I haven't seen in a while. Both of them stopped and exclaimed how great I was looking and asked had I done something to myself as they couldn't quite put their finger on what was different. " I cut a fringe" I confessed and they mutually praised my decision and said how amazing I looked. Okay, the praise was a bit excessive but my fragile ego was lapping it up and so despite the fact that I was still jumping with fright every time I caught a glance of myself in a shop window wondering who the stranger looking back at me was, this whole fringe thing was slowly starting to grow on me (pardon the pun).
I arrived home and hubby came out to greet me at the car. His first words were an emphatic"I like it!". "Really?" I said relived, "Oh I'm so glad. I wasn't sure at first but it's really starting to grow on me. Does it make me look younger do you think?" "Oh it does, it does" Hubby nodded approvingly.
Ah! My heart was light, my ego had re inflated until I walked in the door and Andrew took one look at me and said"Oh mummy, what's wrong with you? You look so yucky today" and Charlotte promptly burst into tears.
Anyone know how long it takes to grow a fringe out?
I'm sure the kids are a chip off the old block and just don't like change. Post a picture so we can see the new "Do"!
ReplyDeleteBtw my hairdresser claims the reason the colour she put in looks so awful is cos I've had 2 kids and it's hormonal!