I hit this city this week. a quick over-nighter to teach a workshop and do some “womanly maintenance”  Multitasked by bringing my 9yr old with me for some quality mom & daughter time.

Except it all went wrong.

Well, nothing tragic like a car accident, or natural disaster.

Actually, it kind of was a natural disaster. A hair catastrophe. A “Tragi-cut”

I had a great cut 8 weeks ago from this stylist, so was excited to go back for a trim up.  I had finally found a style I liked, that suited my personality (and my age!)

It was just “enough” style, while still remaining natural.

I assumed that when I asked the stylist to trim up the cut he gave me 2 months ago he knew what I was talking about.  FATAL FLAW!

I guess he “faked it” through.. instead of asking for clarification or a picture. And boy, did he go wrong.  When I started to comment and ask questions, he tried to “fix” it…

It quickly went from bad to worse.

I “called” the cut, and left as he was saying “Once you wash it and style it on your own, it will be exactly what you want”

I held on to the hope that this was true. . .  although I think I knew, deep down that it wasn’t going to work out that way.

This is what I wanted. What I asked for. And then… what I got.

It felt all wrong.  It felt thin where it should have been think. I had short pieces, long pieces, straggley pieces and chunks that didn’t blend.  There was nothing close to natural, with a hint of style in this cut.

I felt the shakes (and the tears) coming.

Fast forward to the next day. A night spent alternating between tears and furious anger, I woke up full of optimism and jumped in the shower.

I styled it as I would in my “normal life” (which means minimal) and was left with a disaster.  Different weight of hair on each side, a strange chunky bowl cut on the top.

It was awkward and I sobbed.

I sobbed because I have been struggling with hair issues my entire life. I finally gained the courage to wear a “style” not just have it “long” or “short” and fell in love with what I had going on. And then ruins.

I sobbed because even though my hair isn’t my personality, it is a permanent style statement. At 6ft tall, and brimming with “personality” while toting around an introverted shell, I wear what I am comfortable in and have found my place in personal style.  If I am not comfortable in the clothes I wear, or the bag I carry, I will change it. But now. . .  I am wearing a hair cut that isn’t me. And doesn’t make me feel comfortable.

I sobbed because it felt wrong.  It wasn’t “structurally sound”, like walking into a house where the foundation has shifted and the floors tilt, or you see the line on the wall where someone slapped on more paint, instead of fixing the gyprock.  It wasn’t a “well built” hair cut. And no amount of product or styling was going to cover up me knowing that.  I don’t do broken. I fix things, and move on.

I sobbed even harder because I was with my daughter. I had wasted time and money to get this hair cut and have a great girls day. I sobbed because she saw me sob, and as much as I wanted to show her I was a strong and confident woman, I didn’t. A hair cut brought me to my knees.

I sobbed and I put out a call on facebook, and I realized that this is a common thing. Devastating to women everywhere.

Help came in the form of Melissa. Feeling the fool I called for an appointment, sobbing my way through, begging,  tearful, devastated. I spent the morning with my daughter, demonstrating to her exactly how well retail therapy works, and gorging on waffles.

It could only have gotten more “hormonal” if we had gone for pedicures and sobbed.

I was nervous walking into the salon for the fix. I knew I wasn’t getting what I wanted, so I was holding out hope for empathy, validation that it was a “bad” cut and possibly something cute to wear on my head for a few months that I might be able to eventually “work” with.

What did I get?
I got a stylist who understood. One who pointed out why the cut felt so wrong and where my previous stylist had made the grievous errors.  She let me cry over the loss of my locks, and may have possibly shed a tear with me.

Ok. maybe not. But she oozed empathy, which was what I needed.

She convinced me not to “shave it all off” (and yes, imagine that through snotty sobs and you’ll get the picture” and appeased me with a “growth plan” that I could look forward to.

We laughed about how she was a great “cleaner” like in those pics where you shoot the wrong guy and someone needs to come in and clean up the mess.

And yes.. I laughed.

I left with a better hair cut. I didn’t love it… but I can grow to accept it, and find a way to make it my own.  I left feeling like I had had my “problem” fixed.

I stopped crying.

We all know that part of your wardrobe is the way you wear your clothes. Wear something with confidence and you will look fabulous.
Whatever Melissa did in there returned a bit of confidence to me. Just enough for me to have the time to snoop around and find the rest of it that was cut off with my hair.

Now. I am not sharing the name of the salon where this all started, mainly because I don’t think he is a bad stylist… i think he just had a bad day.  But I also won’t recommend him.

I will suggest you go see Melissa at Heartbreaker Salon (in Vancouver). Whether it is for a regular trim, a  new style or (god forbid) the clean up after a tragicut.  Give her a call, and tell her the tearful Julie sent you.

And… next time you see me, please don’t mention the hair (this request is binding for 8-12months from the date of this post.)

Oh… and the new hair… here it is: