Hair

My relationship with my hair can be viewed in eras. When I look back at old photos, you can see these eras vividly. The stone age of my hair is the wispy baby hair that grew into long brown locks with curling ends. From here, things actually devolved into a series of bad haircuts all imposed by my mother’s desire to not have to bother with combing or braiding it.

Later, as I claimed control of my hair, a long list of regrettable hair episodes continued to occur, including the wall of bangs in high school. I never truly hated my hair, but when I look back, I realize I should have. Until the golden age of hair began.

When I worked as a lawyer downtown, Nunzio cut my hair regularly. He worked at the salon in the chi chi hotel across the street from my office. Nunzio made my hair look fantastic. He told me to grow out my bangs. “You should have no bangs at all on your face. Look at your face! You must grow them out.” And he was right. I spent twenty something years with bangs because my mom told me I needed them. Nunzio said no more bangs and I never looked back.

Sadly, Nunzio moved to New York to cut hair, as so many talented metrosexual hairdressers do. I was suddenly anxious over my hair. I had never really loved my hair before Nunzio and I didn’t want to let go of that affection.

In true “close a door/open a window” fashion, I found Jonna at a funky little hair salon by the waterfront. If anyone could be better than Nunzio at making my hair look fantastic, it’s Jonna. She would talk to me the entire time she was cutting my hair, rarely looking at me or the work she was doing with the scissors. And every time, she turned my hair into something that I loved and could easily replicate. Jonna became my friend that I saw regularly to maintain my cute haircuts, each one a little different from the last. She even convinced me to use a hair dryer and “product” to style it.

With the advent of motherhood, another age has taken control of my hair. It’s the age of “I don’t have time for that” hair. At each visit, I would explain to Jonna that whatever she did, it had to be able to look good as a wash and wear cut – literally. No hair dryer will be used. No styling products. Just finding time to wash my hair seemed like a vastly challenging task. With great disappointment, Jonna relented to simpler cuts. And as a testament to her skill, they still looked pretty darn good.

With three kids in my life, my haircuts have become fewer and farther between. As I walked into her shop this week, she greeted me with the usual enthusiasm and said, “It’s time for your annual haircut!”

Oh, my. It’s true. I think it has been a year since I have had a haircut. To her credit, her great cuts really do make me look good for a long time. It is months before I start putting my long and shaggy hair into a pony tail.

The upside of waiting until I have a really shaggy mess of hair is that the resulting cut is appreciated more. “Wow! Your hair looks terrific!” people will exclaim. They are too kind to say, “Boy, I didn’t realize how crappy your hair looked until you finally got it cut.” But that is certainly part of the reason they notice and comment. It’s no secret to me because I feel the same way.

But the downside is that my kids are traumatized. They don’t recognize me when I come back home with most of my hair missing. They spend several days criticizing my haircut and looking at me with skepticism as though I am someone they don’t recognize.

Hopefully one day I will find that sweet spot of having great hair again. I am not sure if I can ever prioritize hair in the way I once did (along with manicures, massages, and leg shaving). But maybe I can get it cut before I traumatize anyone.