Tuesday, 13 July 2010

“There are no grades of vanity, there are only grades of ability in concealing it”

Does anyone else have cosmetic disasters?

I am impulsive. I am controlled by whims and half-cocked ideas. I don't really bother what I look like and as a result, what little effort I put into trying to look presentable goes awry! I'm not vain at all, just content to be dressed in a kind of grungy look (least that's what I call it) that neither confirms nor follows trends from River Island and the likes and wearing a bit of mascara as I have blonde eyelashes. The drawback to this is that even I feel the societal pressure to make an 'effort'. So, in my usual slap-stick fashion I have paid for spa treatments that have ended up with me putting my back out, I've had legs waxes that have caused serious rashes and pus filled spots, I've had my eyebrows plucked and tinted in the style of Groucho Marx, eyelashes that after being tinted have itches incessantly for a week. I've had hair cuts that have ended in mullet-style disasters, hair that's gone green or bright orange. I also pay very little attention to the stylist/beautician during the process which doesn't help and I accept full responsibility. When asked what way I part my hair, or how dark I want something dyed I mumble '...mananannnwhwh-whatever' and am subsequently aghast when I finally look in the mirror.


The last time I went to the hairdressers I didn't tell Oh Daddy. He knows full well what usually happens and objects to me moaning for a week about the latest disaster. I went to a salon up the road that was recommended to me by my lovely friends who raved about their hair cutting/dying experiences there. A small and unassuming salon, I ventured in with a sizeable mop (named so as it doesn't seem to grow in length but gets bigger over a set period of time) and mumbled something along the lines of "hair cut please". The Stylist said "what" and actually engaged me in a conversation regarding what I wanted to look like and how much time did I actually have on my hands with a young baby to do my hair. Surprised by her attention to detail, I paid attention to the process and given that I had forgotten my book and I'm not one for reading Heat magazine and other such nonsense, I had no choice. I emerged a few pounds lighter in both wallet and hair weight and happy with the cut. Emboldened by this positive beauty related experience I went back a week later to get it dyed. I have blonde hair but I hate my hair colour. It's really brassy and clashes horribly with my skin tone. I had been dying it darker to cool down my skin tine for years. I have a love/hate relationship with my hair. I love having my hair done and despite the disasters have had some amazing hair cuts because as dangerous as it is, I usually let the stylist do what they want and my head has been around more salons in Edinburgh due to this fact than, say, the man who launders the towels. I also hate my hair, it's thick and curly and unruly. I have a double cows lick which B has inherited and my mother put me through years of torturous hair care. At primary school I had long blonde hair, hair that I  could sit on. She used to brush and condition it every night. During the 1970's/1980's craze of VO5 Hot Oil, I had to sit for an hour each night whilst eating my supper and watching Tales of the Unexpected with Hot Oil on my hair wrapped in a wet hot towel covered with a Wm Low's plastic bag to keep the heat in. This was my nightly regime as a child and it has left its psychological scars. I remember the time she got one of her hairdresser friends to come to our house to streak my hair. This involved hours of torturous pulling this very long hair through a tighter than tight latex cap with a crochet hook! I won't go into the time (primary 5) when she decided to perm my hair or those face-lifting pony tails...
                                               Me aged 5
So when I walked into a salon in the nearest town, got them to braid my hair into a ponytail and then cut it off, my mother went mad. So this time I went back to get it dyed, I fancied something different but what? I had been to other salons asking for something different to the dark purple I had been sporting for years and they kept shaking their heads saying there really wasn't anything I could do with it. So at the new salon when they said let's bleach your hair, I said okay. Eight hours and a lot of bleach later, I emerged blinking into the sunlight a nice shade of platinum. I'm getting used to it, I think....

2 comments:

  1. Blondes have more fun! Twice now I've had moments of insanity and thought, why can't I dye my hair at home? I went darker and then immediately sunk into a deep funk and had to go lighter again.

    Having blonde hair makes me happy, now someone just remind me of that in 5 years when I insist on going dark again...

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  2. Thanks for the comment. Ha ha, I will remind you of this in five years time. Great blogs by the way.

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