It started when I was in university, circa 2007. A happenstance. Then it became almost a habit, a necessity. I would get a haircut whenever I get my heart broken. The reason was always as described in this post: no use crying over spilt milk, broken relationships and cut hair.
So when I recently felt heartbroken, one of the first things I thought was: I need a haircut. Add to the above reasons the fact that he used to tell me how he liked my pretty, long brown hair. But being in Switzerland posed a problem. First, haircuts are highly expensive and second, for most hair salons I need to make an appointment. So I struggled. Asked a friend. Toyed with the idea of cutting my own hair. At one point I really felt like I desperately needed the haircut, so I went to the airport–thinking they would probably accept walk-ins and completely ignoring that it is even more expensive than anywhere else– but when I arrived the hairdresser had gone home (it was late) and I almost broke down.
Strangely enough, the next day I get an e-mail from Groupon, which I do every morning, actually… but this had a deal for a wash-cut-blow dry… for 39fr. instead of 105fr. How awesome is that?? Needless to say, I bought the deal and then planned with Wanderingdaph to go together as she also got it. It was hard to fit our schedules though, so Daph said I should just go ahead… and she booked me an appointment.
The appointment was yesterday afternoon. On a side note, I thought it was kinda cool that it was leap day. After all, getting your hair cut is almost like a leap of faith *wink*. As the time neared, I was more anxious than excited. Partly because of the thought of losing my hair, but also because of fear that I won’t be able to communicate properly and my hair would turn into a disaster. I had a picture of what I wanted, but still. As a last resort, I asked a friend to accompany me. HE was sweet enough to actually say yes.
To cut a long story short since the point of this post isn’t the process itself (I think the hairdresser merits her own post — a review post. Later.), got my hair cut. It turned out so well that every single person at the salon agreed that I looked “trés jolie” (that’s like 6 or 7 people, 8 if you count me, but I’m biased).
Strangely enough, I did not weep as the hairdresser cut my hair and I did not miss my long tresses. Also, there was no sense of relief, and somehow I had completely forgotten to relate it with my hearbreak. This morning when I woke up and saw myself in the mirror, I had completely forgotten how I looked like yesterday. It was as if I had always had this hairstyle, and I loved the person looking back at me.
In retrospect, perhaps I had seen myself in my mind with this hairstyle all along. And I didn’t need a haircut to divert me from the heartbreak because the wounds have healed. Instead of giving me a diversion, the hairdresser had simply cut her way to reveal what I did not manage to see before.
A beautiful, happy, very much loved little me.