Today I’m going to talk about something we women don’t often discuss:
Our LOVE-HATE relationship with our beauty salon.
Oh sure, we love the end result – that perfect honey hue, the softness, the body that gives our hair bounce.
But do we love the process?
Going to the salon stresses me out.
To begin with, stepping into the salon feels like I’m stepping into a beauty magazine – only everyone looks stylish EXCEPT me.
Me? I’m in capris and a tank top.
I look like the cat lady from Winnemucca who just got out of the house to take “a little off the top, dearie.”
And how come all the stylists look like Victoria’s Secret models?
Can I just get one who is over 40 and has a mom bod?
I’m surrounded by a sea of young women with glossy hair, and beautifully accessorized black strapless maxi dresses.
Nothing makes me feel uglier.
So I sit in my chair and pretend I’m comfortable while my stylist puts 50 foils in my hair making me look like a deranged steampunk lion.
But in the end, the foils come out and I oooh and aaah over the color.
And then she cuts and styles my hair.
And I look in the mirror that once held the reflection of a worn out, tired, single mom in need of a style overhaul, and things don’t seem quite as bad as they did before.
In fact, I look nice.
So maybe I’m no Victoria’s Secret model.
But what stares back at me from my stylist’s mirror isn’t half bad.
And she’s real (no Photoshop).
And in the moment, I feel pretty again.