Hair we go again ...

When I was twelve, I insisted that I needed a perm. New Jersey’s sons, Bon Jovi, had recently released their first record and were wildly popular and so was big hair.

My seventh grade, wavy hair would just not do. I needed a perm, so that I could tease it out and look like the rest of the girls in my class. I finally convinced my mom that a perm was the way to go and I remember counting the days until my appointment.

When we arrived at the salon, on a Friday afternoon, we learned that our stylist, whom we trusted, was out sick and Angel would be filling in. Nothing about Angel set my Mom’s mind at ease. It could have been her attire, her tattoos, or the fact that her hair had about 6 inches of dark roots before the bleached blonde took over.

But, there was no way I was letting this opportunity slip through my fingers. So, I sat in the chair and got what many could call the worst perm in the history of perms. I, of course, pretended that it was just great lest I give Mom the satisfaction of a “you were right”. (Shortly after, I would also be allowed to wear makeup. Unfortunately, blue eye shadow was in style back then and there is a year of pictures that I believe my mom should destroy.)

Oddly, that perm gave me permanent curls to this day. Whether it was Angel, puberty, or genes, I have very curly hair and I have been fighting it ever since.

So, what does a girl with curly hair want more than anything else? Why, straight hair, of course! Most mornings, I pull it back in a pony tail and call it a day. But every once in awhile I decide that I need a new look. And, that is where the saga begins.

Since being in Bluffton, I have tried three salons in an effort to find the best hairstyle for me.

Salon A decided that what I really needed was long layers, straight hair and some highlights. You know the “Jennifer Aniston”, seven years too late. It looked great, for a day. The next morning, after I decided there was no way I was straightening my hair each morning (a thirty minute ritual) or having light blonde highlights in my brown hair, I was at Walgreens buying hair color to return to my original state. By noon, my hair was brown again and in a pony tail.

After a five month recovery period, I headed to Salon B. After a thirty minute wait, I again shared my desire for a style. It was December and I wanted to cut my hair short, avoid the pony tail for a few months, and enjoy my curls while humidity was in a down cycle.

Salon B suggested, “yes, go with your curls, but you don’t want short hair, not with your face.” (I think that was an insult.) The indicator light did not go on – the one that should have prompted me to exit immediately - so I allowed Salon B to proceed to tell me what I should do. After all, they were the “experts”. So, I came home with long hair, parted on the wrong side, some short layers mixed throughout and enough product to keep the New York Kennel Club show dogs primped for a year. My solution this time? I gave Joe a pair of scissors and made him cut my hair.

After another long recovery period and months of split ends (did I mention that Joe cut my hair with small bathroom scissors?) I got back on that horse and headed to Salon C – Charles & Company in the Kroger shopping Plaza.

This time, I was prepared to stand my ground and what a delightful experience it was. I was put in the chair at exactly the time my appointment was to start. I then explained what I wanted – just a trim please – and I found a stylist who listened.

I am proud to say that I will indeed return. I finally, after a year of searching, found a salon in Bluffton that will see my repeat business.