Extreme makeover

22 May 2009

As you may imagine, for a girl who doesn't even shave her legs, getting my hair cut was a dramatic experience. Just ask David, my co-intern, who had to sit through a week of my shall-I-shan't-I before I got up the courage to do the deed. But it was really time I did something with that mop of split ends wigging out on top of my head.* On Wednesday, I arranged to take a long lunch, and the last words I said to David as I headed out to The Hair Shoppe were, "If I come back with long hair, DON'T SAY ANYTHING."

I haven't actually had my hair professionally cut since I was 12, and I had forgotten what a horrifying place the salon is. In case you too have forgotten, let me remind you: They plunk you down in that giant chair and tie your arms down under an enormous black cape. The Hairdresser comes in with an apron full of instruments of torture: combs with blades between the teeth, buzzers, razors, and all manner of sharp, pointy scissors. She grabbed my pony tail and I hear that shzzzzcK! of scissors on hair. Wagging the lopped off thing in front of my face she joked, "Too bad! Someone could have used that!"

I just closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, Too late to do anything now.

I think the best part of a dramatic haircut is the shocking response it draws from everyone who has to double-take as you walk in the room.

Monica and Rachel were the first to notice, and they exclaimed over my pluck and daring. My boss met me as I walked back to my computer and nearly began to introduce herself to "the new intern."

Of course, there's the chance no one will notice because they won't even recognize you. Four people recognized me at class the next day, my professor was not among them, and he gave me the strangest look as I sat down confidently at the front of his class.

Cait says I look like a model; that's what friends are for!

I believe I'm still recovering from the shock of really cutting it all off, but I think I like it.

And now, the new me:

*Puns are always intended.