And a good job.
My hairdresser, the man solely responsible for taming my curls, giving me my high and lo-lights, covering my gray, getting me fabulous before my trips, special occasions, twelve-hour photos shoots, and on any given Thursday has up and moved to the big city… New York!
Yeah, yeah, I’m happy for him. I mean, he is very talented. He’s been promoted to good job that he totally deserves and now my hair is in a bun and my roots are looking bad because everyone booked their appointments as soon as they heard and before I knew it, he sold his car, packed his bags, and we’re sipping Margaritas at his going away dinner.
He took my hair from a short, damaged bob to long, bouncy and shiny. And I was able to grow out my keratin to the last two or three inches without nasty breakage or damage.
Yet now, he leaves us (my hair and I) for a rent controlled two bedroom in Harlem and a pretty amazing job.
Sad, sad, SAD, day for me. Great, great, GREAT day for him.
I have suffered this sort of lost before. When I moved to Jacksonville nine years ago, I left behind the best Dominican hair stylist on this side of the Americas. Really, she was that good. So I spent three or four years trying to find a new stylist. I tested out so many gals claiming they knew how to round brush my hair but 10 minutes in I knew I was dealing with an amature. Still, I gave these ladies a few tries to get it right and even showed them pictures of how my hair should look. The whole thing was exhausting until finally I settled with one or two for a few years until I finally found my guy.
I’ll never forget the day. My sister-in-law walked in the door with hair that looked all too familiar. Smooth roots, shiny bounce, and lots of body. It was like seeing a mirage surrounded by a choir of singing angels. I knew what brought about that look.
I got his number. We met, he washed, and it was love at first bounce for three and half good years. No matter what kind of day or week I was having, I could walk out of his salon feeling fabulous even in my dingiest of gym clothes. His skills are so good, my hair once withstood a 12 hour photoshoot outside near water and I didn’t need to do a darn thing to it the entire time. Not once!
See?
So now here I am, alone with no one to trust with this hair. I need a color pretty soon. Really like yesterday because I have a big event in 15 days. This week, I will test the waters with some referrals to see if anyone can work some magic. If I don’t find someone decent, I may walk around with the bad hair day look.
No Bueno!
GULP!
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