‘I looked like a clown: What happened when I compromised on my hairstyle’

With coronavirus still rearing its ugly head, many of us have had to adjust our beauty plans. Forfeiting the beauty salon is one of the many sacrifices I’ve had to make.

I had a great hairstylist in Los Angeles, California a few years ago, but being down in Naples, Florida has forced me to start all over trying to find an affordable colourist.

With Covid-19, it’s a delicate situation. Who wants to sit in a chair for several hours wearing a mask? Not me.

Still, I decided to face my fears and try a new salon. She promised that I would be in and out of there in 45 minutes. It sounded like a reasonable compromise.

If you are trying a new stylist, you go in with the best of intentions. You cross your fingers and hope that you don’t come out looking like a cartoon character.

My hair had got very dark over the past few months, so that I looked like my mother. Flecks of grey weaved through my black roots. Maybe going lighter would make me feel better.

I showed my stylist a photo of what I’d like to look like. It seemed like a no-brainer, especially since she had owned two salons in a previous life. I presumed she knew what she was doing.

I loved the way they pampered me as they applied the colour. They even gave me a neck massage before I was put under the dryer.

It seemed like a long time had passed, and I thought about those meals I attempted to cook when I had put them in the microwave for too long. I thought I heard the timer in the distance, yet I trusted that the hairstylist knew what she was doing so I continued to sit there, as my head got progressively hotter.

I thought I saw a glimmer of fear in her eyes when she finally released me from the dryer, but you know how hair stylists are. They always act like your hair looks great no matter what shape it’s in. She took out the foils and proceeded to wash my hair. At the end she put in some toner.

“This will keep your hair from going yellow,” she promised.

As she was rinsing my hair, I had visions of my hair resembling my Los Angeles stylist’s talents. But the colour looked a bit different.

“Maybe it’s the fluorescent lights,” I said to myself.

After she finished drying my hair, I looked in the mirror. Staring back at me was Lucille Ball. Where were the highlights she promised?

I didn’t want to complain right then. Perhaps the colour would calm down as the day progressed. It didn’t. In the sunlight, my friend said it didn’t look too bad. She was lying. I was a carrot top.

I have had other hair fiascos over the years. I once went to a hair salon and my hair came out maroon. This is when maroon was not in fashion. Another time they left the perm on too long. My hair looked like a flock of mattress springs as I left the salon.

You can always tell when your hair looks lousy when the other stylists at the salon look at you and give you an over-zealous compliment.

“Your hair looks great,” they exclaim, with their faces slightly contorted.

You know that they’re just trying to sell you on a bad dye job, hoping that you will scurry away and not post a poor review on Yelp.

When I got home I looked in the mirror and thought my hair looked like a vegetable patch. Or that a UFO had landed on my head, leaving a bright orange crop circle. Clearly, I was ready for the circus.

I called the salon, and they said I could return the following day. Perhaps she can create some magic … But if I’m wearing a hat, you’ll know.