Tuesday 1 July 2014

Fringe Benefits?


In the early afternoon on the day which I was supposed to set off on my Spanish vacation, I had booked in a hair appointment, believing, rather foolishly that I could accomplish all that which I had set out for the day and still take care of all of those last minute tasks, in a graceful and calm fashion I'm an adult, isn't that what adults do?  Handle everything with grace, calm and with and, um, hm.  Yea I don't know who I was channeling at the time eitheir.

In my eagerness to get everything done before I had left for Spain (more on that later), I had scheduled things too closely and ended up late, not too late but late enough that the girl at reception did her best to make it understood that she thought my lateness was akin to the equivalent of a world catastrophe ( I called, apologized that I would be late, and  I was still given the go head to come on in). I now understand why those that can do have personal assistants.  

I never did get anything done with my hair that day,  the salon was incredibly apologetic for Ms. receptionist's behaviour and her drama filled reaction to my lateness in front of other salon patrons.  The salon offered to make amends, I was appreciative and I left it at that, the fault was mine after all.  All in all this is a first world problem and though slightly annoyed, I decided to take this in stride and wear my hair au naturel, in  all of it's thick, wavy, sometimes curly glory.  

Barcelona & Mallorca hair au naturel
I was going on vacation after all, and didn't want to chance any house-fires by taking my straightener (I know now I wouldn't have used it even if I had taken it. Way too much effort for a vacation).  In all honesty, I think it all worked out for the best.  Where vacation was concerned. My apparent want to get my hair cut was tempered by the sights & sounds of Spain, too enthralled by the new world around me, the desire to do anything worthwhile, let alone spending a great deal of time and/or thought into my hair was just not going to be on the cards.  I much prefer discovery and adventure over preening over my appearance for hours, although I do preen, not for hours, but, quite regularly (personal hygene is a must). 

Back in more familiar territory and routine, the desire to preen.  Before I had left I thought I knew exactly, precisely the image I had wanted to do. I wanted something chic, yet bohemian, yet classic, age appropriate, but fashionable.  Since these are all 'buzzwords' that tend to mean very little, my image of the perfect hair was a  light rose-gold pale concoction.

Rose-Gold hair via Pinterest
This was the image that I would show my hairdresser on my phone.  I would say something ridiculous akin to "Give me hair colour, sophistication,  joie de vivre, work your magic and work it well"! (swiftly followed by an appropriately timed please and thank you) as is my custom.  This image seemed like a good image this plan seemed like an excellent plan, my nearest and dearest to me agreed that this image would suit my person, lifestyle and skin tone.  I had agonized for weeks to make sure that the image presented before you, was the image at least to a certain extent was the image I would represent, the hair I would wear every day, until inevitably boredom set in.

Then, while editing vacation photos, I heard it in the late hours of the night, it approached out of nowhere like that nefarious looking character that your loved ones and guardians pull you away from (or should) when 'the stranger' approaches you in their scraggly looking demeanor.  They try to entice you with promises of sugary dreams that never seem to pan out.  In my case the nefarious character did not take to presenting sugary treats (which I would have welcomed). The nefarious character this time a-round made its appearance in the form of the idea of  bangs, fringe, the devil's minion, whatever you'd like to I heard it calling to me, like a voice at in the night being carried by a warm wind. It tried to seduce me by  "But, don't you want to look impossibly chic, sophisticated? Sexy? Coquettish even?!" 

Fringe: Trying to look impossibly chic, sophisticated, sexy, coquettish even!

I've had bangs/fringe before, given the right hairdresser one does tend to look impossibly sophisticated (only though right after leaving the salon, then it's all: "You fool, you fell for it again"! As from day to day you struggle to personify chicness, inevitably this will happen.  These pictures are ones whch were taken in most cases after leaving the salon, to you know, inform all of my friends of how chic and sophisticated I looked.  This vibe lasted for the day, maybe two...as long as I broke out the hair straightener every.single.day.

The reality was that I didn't and I know I will not break out the hair straightener every day, I have impossibly uncooperative hair when it comes to fringe/bangs.  In the moments when I have them I yearn for a live in hairdresser to straighten my hair, I don't foresee that in my immediate future (How unfortunate you say). It is it is unfortunate that I am drawn to fringe/bangs like a siren song found in the journey through life's great oddessey.  I've reasoned and I have used logic (you have two cow-licks I think to myself), yet logic does not deter me and I always seem to talk myself into them, every single time without fail.

This time around things are going to be different, this time I will not show the hairdresser hair with fringe/bangs, I will persevere.  I will walk into the salon and say "Give me something to suit my face shape and skin colour".  I will  let her work her Edward Scissor Hands like magic, I will trust in her years of experience and expertise and what I assume will be good taste.  I will not fall into the spell of the chichest of chic fringes throughout the internet.  And I will trust that I will walk out with the most chic, sophisticated sexy and fringe free coquettish free hair...I hope.

I'll let you know how that all goes.  In all honesty, is it worth all the work styling, battles with nature and re-growth for some fringe benefits?



X,
Marta