I cut my hair yesterday.

Here’s the thing about me Zonk; I don’t like to do anything that draws attention to me. I don’t like to be looked at or to stick out. I like to blend into the background and be comfortable and chameleony. I like to take it easy and stay on the fringes and be noticed only in the way that you notice an old colleague who always sits in the same chair. Or a chair that is always the same degree of faded. Or a door that always creaks at the same angle of ajar. I like to be applauded for creaking well or fading gracefully, of course, but I’m uncomfortable about being noticed for drastic things. If I was a faded chair I’d never agree to get reupholstered. Unless I was going to another country all alone and nobody knew me, in which case I have a feeling I’d go all out and get it on with fiery red leather or sequinned mesh or something. Not that anybody would ever want a chair upholstered with sequinned mesh..but you get my point. I don’t like drastic changes. Which is why I’ve worn pretty much the same exact  kind of clothes for the last seven years, the same sort of accessories, and the same kind of make up. (That’s really neutral clothes, no accessories and no make up, by the way, and I have a feeling it’s going to stay that way.)

But something happened two years ago that turned my whole entire life around, in terms of voluntarily acquired notable physical change. It was November, and my birthday, and a friend said she’ll get me a fucking awesome haircut as a gift.

Enter Sisnel.

Sisnel is only the most talented hair stylist I’ve ever met. Alas, she works only at really expensive salons. And also alas, I am the kind that will give you handwritten redeemable coupons for your birthday because I can’t afford a real gift at the moment. Those gifts are coming, by the way. N, R, I swear you’ll both get your gifts soon. Real soon.

But I digress. Sheena took me to Sisnel for my expensive birthday haircut. And she said this time, go short.

Remember the chair, Zonk; remember the upholstery. Cut my hair short? Not look the exact same way I’d looked through four years of college? Run the risk of being noticed as that person who looks new? Na-ha, you’ll think. Not her, you’ll say. Not the One Of The Exisiting Upholstery.

But remember remember the fifth of November. I was young, Zonk. And reckless. And it was my birthday after all. So I said why not. I said why ever not. And I looked Sisnel in the eye and said, rather uncharacteristically, chop it off.

She did. And there I was, twenty minutes later, an Entirely New Person. With short hair and an emo air. The kind of person you expect will  have piercings on their lip and a facebook full of top angle pictures with sullen expressions and diaries full of poetry that is dark and highly rhyming. I don’t like to come across that way, Zonk, I really don’t. But the short hair was a pleasant surprise. It sort of suited me and I sort of liked it and so did everyone else. I don’t like looking emo but emo seems to work for me. And who am I to question the ways of the Universe. And so it was that I made a drastic change to my face that worked out awesomely. I should have stopped right there. I should have taken a few nice pictures and left it at that and let my hair grow out and get back to the old trusty neutral hair of neutral length and with a neutral fringe that always falls over the eye and looks nice, but nothing special.

But I’d had a taste of awesome hairness and I grew greedy. I went to Sisnel again in three months’ time. With money I’d scraped together from not eating and painting shoes. And again 6 months after that. And again. And again. And again. It’d become an addiction, Zonk. A habit I couldn’t break. I couldn’t really afford it, and I was starting to have to lie and steal and be mean to people and stuff. I didn’t just want an awesome haircut every few months. I needed it. And I was slowly going insane.

But Sisnel was on a career roll and her haircuts got more and more expensive until eventually, she moved out of Fancy Salon and moved into Fancier Salon and I had to draw the line somewhere. Fancier Salon was far too expensive for a haircut. I mean it’s just Hair. I told myself I don’t need this. I told myself I can do without. So I went yesterday to a Shmancy Salon near home that charges only half the price of Fancier Salon and I found a hair dresser I sort of trusted and I showed him a picture of a haircut Sisnel had given me a few years ago and told him I wanted exactly that. He nodded gravely, strapped me in, and chopped it all off.

But he did it wrong, Zonk. He did it reall,y really wrong. He was supposed to do anime but he ended up doing underage. And now I look like a 12 year old girl that’s bunking school and sneaking into bars in disguise and doing a bad job of it.












It actually looks worse in real life.

Next time, I’ll suck it up and go to Sisnel.



2 thoughts on “Reupholstered

  1. That is a seriously sinister looking picture. Oh, and all that stuff you said in the first paragraph is exactly why I called you a wallflower a long long time ago.

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