So, I got a haircut. They say you should get your hair cut every few months; apparently it helps it grow or something. I never understood that logic: cut it to make it grow. Regardless, I was closing in on the 10 month mark so I thought I should probably do something about it. My hair was definitely part of the “very long” category but it was pretty damaged from all the heat styling I do to it. I ended up getting about 5 inches taken off, so it’s still fairly long, but it’s a noticeable difference. It feels a lot better, too. I have to admit, however, that committing to the haircut was not such an easy task.

Even when I am at home and going to the same hairdresser I have been going to for the last 10 years I still get a little nervous before a chop session. I always tell myself, “This time, just let her do whatever she wants. If it sucks you can just wear it in a ponytail until it grows back,” but when I get to the salon I always end up saying “Just clean up the ends, please.” So, being in a different country I was extra nervous. I had so many crazy thoughts running through my head, like, “What if the term trim means something totally different here? Like buzz!” and “What if she gives me some uber trendy European haircut? I can’t pull that off!” Well, it wasn’t all that  bad when I finally got to the salon. It wasn’t the smoothest journey, however.

Having persuaded myself once again that hair grows back, I sucked up the nerves and went to an appointment at a salon in town. My hairdresser was nice, fairly young, and had really short hair. She started by washing my hair and apologizing the whole time because the water kept going from hot to cold; she couldn’t get it to settle on a warm setting. After a few minutes it became pretty clear to me that she wasn’t very good at the hairdresser chit chat; she just kept saying “Don’t you get hot with such long hair?” After we decided that I just wanted to cut off all the dead/split ends she set to work. It didn’t take too long before she started pulling my hair to both sides and comparing the new length. And then pulling it forward and comparing it. Then back to the sides. Then the front. She looked  puzzled and called her friend over for a second opinion. This is when I started chanting “It grows back, it grows back, it grows back” over and over in my head. Her friend came over to discuss and ended up back seat hair cutting for a few minutes. It was at this point that I realised the one hairdresser that I chose in the whole of York was fresh out of cosmetology school.

After some advice from the more experienced Tasha, including scissor holding techniques, my hairdresser began the ever terrifying task of matching up the now uneven sides of my hair.  In the end, I believe I lost a little more hair than we had originally agreed on, but it’s still past my shoulders, which was my one (fairly generous) stipulation. I would have had to lose about 13 inches to really have been panicked,  but she kept it to 5 and I have been moderately satisfied with the results ever since.

Here are some pictures to compare before and after. To make the comparison easier for everyone I have paired up two photos in which I am making a scowling face and displaying pirate themed toys. Enjoy.