I’ve never been one to strike up a relationship with my hair stylist. In fact, for the past three years, I’ve gone from stylist to stylist, salon to salon, searching for someone who wasn’t insanely overpriced (huge problem, particularly in the city; my sister in Hoboken once paid more than $300 for a cut and color; my goal is to be around $150 before tip) and who would actually highlight my hair the correct color of blonde.
After turning to the Internet for some much needed advice, I found a highly rated and semi-reasonably priced salon less than two blocks away from my place of business. I figured it was worth a shot, so I booked an appointment with one of their junior stylists (always the way to go, junior stylists are cheaper and the good salons only hire the best new talent).
Lee and I clicked immediately. Even though I came armed with a magazine to prevent awkward conversation, I didn’t need it. We talked celebrities; we talked personal trainers; we talked boyfriends and ex-boyfriends; we talked hair. And when I said, “I want my hair blonde, really blonde, not this weird dishwater-y color everyone else makes it, but I don’t want it yellow either,” she understood. “You want blonde; I’ll make it blonde,” she said and she delivered. Maybe because she’s a blonde, we had a blonde sisterhood of hair thing going on.
That was in November. I went back last week to see her again for highlights and a cut last week. Lacking any ideas of my own and inexplicably feeling as though I could trust her judgment (granted I rarely get emotional about my hair… it’s straight and fine and it’s pretty hard to totally screw it up), I told her to cut my hair however she wanted.
She chose to do a “modern bob.” It’s totally cute and I love it, but when she styled she asked if I ever flat ironed my hair. Why on earth would I flat iron my hair? It’s straight. I figured it was one beauty tool I did not need.
I was wrong. She flat-ironed my hair and, in a brief, yet profound moment of clarity, I realized that all of those girls, the ones with the perfectly shiny, frizz-free, straight hair, were not necessarily born blessed… they owned flat irons.
Yesterday, I went out and bought my very own Jilbere flat iron at Sally Beauty Supply (I was told specifically not to go to CVS and buy a Conair flat iron). I used it for the first this morning and am very happy with the results. It’s as if my hair’s true potential has finally been revealed to me. It’s amazing.