Bangs, circa 1954My second grade school picture. Haircut by my Mom.
Most recent cut
I had asked for what we used to call, back in the 1950s, a pixie cut. My hairdresser, a student at the local 'beauty' school and all of 19 years old, asked me to describe it. I told her wispy bangs and short on sides and back. I believe she did as best she could, given my poor descriptions. Besides, the cut was inexpensive, which I needed it to be, and it's only hair - it will grow back out. Someday. Maybe. I hope.
9 comments:
Martha
It looks quite cute, I think. 1954...geez. I was in the 3rd grade, I think.
I'm in Southern Arizona, near Bisbee, hangin' with the homies.
Cheers,
Mike
Hello, Mike:
I can live with cute. I was hoping for sophisticated or alluring, but cute is good.
At least I went to a hairdresser this time instead of taking the dog clippers to it. And, no, I won't be posting that picture!
Hope you're having a good time in Bisbee.
I think it's rather chic. But it's on your head, so you are the ultimate judge. It will, as you say, grow.
Same face, yup. That's you. Bright eyes.
Zhoen:
Oooo, chic! I like chic, too.
The older face is a lot fatter than the younger face, but the dimples are still there.
There are those who (secretly) enjoy going to the salon though I'm not sure who they are and why they like it. It's one of those theories that are used to open up blog comments and never gets tested. Then there are the rest of us and the irritation starts way back: just the task of phoning the appointment gets me down. As to instruction for the scissors-man I long for a laminated card, resembling a chinese restaurant menu, with thumbnails, so that I can say: "I'll have a 37". My salonist has become grumpy. To make the time pass more quickly I interview him and he's worried he's going to reveal something quite intimate one of these days, given we're all through the banal stuff.
Definitely sophisticated, a touch of the Judi Dench there I reckon, thanks for showing me! And the perfect neat smooth fringe as a little girl I would have envied enormously.
I have mixed feelings about hair salons generally. Like BB I actually hate the business of making an appointment, so the salon we've found which operates a wait-in-line policy is an improvement. I like having my hair washed, especially if the water's good and hot and the person doing it quite vigorous. However, I have a very bad habit of scratching sore places on my scalp, which some hairdressers have been known to poke at and remark on, so I put off going when these are bad.
And I hate having to chat. I didn't like it in English and it's worse in French. Someone who had been once told me that the really chic expensive big name hairdressers don't talk as they work at all, they are focused and generally cultivate silence in their salons. I think one should keep one's head still anyway and not move chin and jaw about, especially with those sharp blades around. In fact the girls at the current salon aren't too bad, but there have been others where I've stopped going because I loathe having to make conversation.
I have been known to take Molly's razor comb to the front of my hair on more than one occasions, saving myself money and angst in the process.
Oh, but to have hair to cut.
BB, I detest going to the hairdresser, too. I can never explain what I want well enough to end up with that cut.
I long ago adopted the attitude that it is, after all, only hair, and if the cut is that bad, I do have the dog clippers at hand.
Lucy: chatting is probably the worst part, unless it's having the person leaning over me to wash my hair wearing too much perfume.
Jim: Well, but you have your beard...or doesn't that count?
I remember when you were in first grade and you absent-mindedly cut a wide spot out of your bangs, all the way down to your scalp. Wish I had a picture of that, and the look on your face when you got home from school and found your teacher in the living room, having tea with your mother.
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