Bangs, fringe, breakage — whatever you call it, it'll fit in some butterfly clips.
I love going to the hair salon.
Not because I enjoy laying down cash for pretty hair or because I have two hours to spare on any given day. Not because I genuinely love to pamper myself (I hereby declare that every haircut is followed by a pedicure and trip to Sephora), and not just because I love that "just cut" feeling. (You know the feeling I'm talking about).
I love going to the hair salon because I love my hairstylist.
Guys, I think I have a girlcrush on her. I adore her so much, in fact, that I convinced my husband he should also go to her for all his hair styling needs. They get along pretty great, too.
Seriously, even if I hated getting my hair cut--the way I did in grade school when I walked out the door looking like a sad poodle who just spent an hour inside of a balloon-filled room -- I'd still love going to the salon. Because my hairstylist is that wonderful.
I swear, going to the salon is better therapy than any certified psychiatrist could ever offer, and I walk out the door with a really glorious head of hair.
We talk about everything, even when it requires shouting loudly over a blow dryer. From really disturbing YouTube videos that would shame your grandmother to the latest teen fashion prodigies on Instagram; from trashy TV show updates (is it bad that I watch Pretty Little Liars?) to cute boys, dating woes and the best online shopping venues. We laugh and gasp and gossip without ever skipping a beat.
Story time: One time, I scheduled a hair appointment kind of late in the day and we ended up staying at the salon way past closing time, partly because we talk a lot and partly because my hair is a thick (and glorious) monster that takes a long time to cut/dry/style. I'm pretty sure she hinted at hanging out after we were done, but I shied away, unsure if it was crossing any hairstylist boundaries.
Afterward, I felt like one of those guys who are clueless as to whether or not a chick likes him because she just didn't outright say, "HEY I LIKE YOU." Did I miss out on my chance to nurture a new friendship? Would it have been weird to ask her to hang out outside of the confines of hair-washing stations and squeaky salon chairs?
The other day, after I'd already planned to write this very article, a friend updated her Facebook status, saying, "The only reason I tolerate getting my hair done is to chat with [my stylist]. It's like friendship prostitution."
This got me thinking. Is it a hairstylist's job to make you feel like you're BFFs? Like you have so much in common that you could talk for hours over pink champagne or watch Clueless together and dish on any and all pertinent topics relating to your life?
While a predisposition to friendliness and excellent social skills surely come in handy as a hairstylist, I can't imagine they're all outright faking camaraderie. Right?
Have you ever had to sit in a salon chair over awkward silence (or worse, small talk)? Or do you have the time of your life while getting a trim? And I really want to know if any of you have crossed the threshold of hairstylist/real life friend and started hanging out.