BLOG: Beauty Complaints

Bonjour! The sun came out a little bit today, but I had a cloud-combating morning routine prepared anyway. It’s no big secret. It’s just pop tarts and coffee. And a nice dress, of course. Unfortunately my hair has reached Completely Hopeless status. It’s a disaster: completely dried out, two inches of dark roots, overgrown undercut that is forming a rat tail, split ends, dreadlocks forming on their own.

God, what I wouldn’t give for a competent hair stylist right about now. I haven’t met one since I moved out here. Not one person in this town knows how to properly cut or style curly hair. I’ve been to at least 10 stylists at this point. It’s a nightmare. They go on and on and on that they know what they’re doing, then cut my hair wet and style it like a fucking Karen. I’m sick of paying these bitches $250 (cut, color, products, tip) to fuck up my hair. Just get it right already. I don’t have thin, straight, fine hair. I have thick, curly hair that needs proper care and maintenance someone like them will never understand but should REALLY take the time to research for the sake of their clients. I do not use a flat iron. I do not want to use a flat iron! Stop fucking cutting my hair like I use a fucking flat iron every day! UGH!

Yet another reason I hate living in the middle of fucking nowhere: extremely limited hair dresser options. I find this deeply ironic because it seems like every other woman I meet is a hair dresser. The problem is that they only know how to cut fine, flat, straight hair and use flat irons, curling wands, and bump-its. They also feel the need to engage me in small town gossip I don’t care about, which never leads anywhere good. I had one experience last year where the hair dresser had a meltdown in the middle of my appointment. I don’t even remember what we were talking about, but somehow she ended up talking about something very distressing to her personal life. She stopped my appointment to call her friend and cry on the phone, completely ignoring me while there was bleach burning my scalp. It was so shockingly unprofessional. I never want to experience anything like that ever again.

In the future, I’ll be sure to invest more in the kind of salon that brings you a beverage and a hot towel while the dye sits. Maybe it will be worth it! I don’t think I’m asking for too much here. I just want a flattering haircut, a pretty color, and to feel like I didn’t just set $250 on fire. That is literally a hair dresser’s job. Any woman will tell you that it’s not about the money. They money is just an unfortunate fact of life. It’s that I want my money to be spent on shit that actually makes me look good! It’s not that complicated.

I’m currently researching and testing products on my own since there are so many “Curly Girl” videos available. My main concern at the moment is finding a person who can both cut my hair properly and sit through multiple coloring sessions to get it right. I’m probably just going to have my sister do it. She’s not a professional but I trust her way more than anyone I’ve tried around here. Hopefully it will go well. I mean, it can’t be any worse than some of these styles from the last few years, so…

If you thought that was bad, just wait until you see me whining about not getting a wax. Could I pluck my own eyebrows? Yes, for a month or two between waxing appointments. Then I lose control and they grow wild on me. Wax is the only thing that can tame them. Alas, I cannot get one during a pandemic. I mean… maybe I could now, but… no. Just no. There’s no way to do my upper lip with a mask on and that’s that. Yeah, that’s right, I’m getting real AF about my missed beauty treatments. I pay $25 once every 2-3 months to get the hair ripped right out of my face and I miss it! SO THERE!

Ahhh… writing about the realities of the 2020 Coronavirus Pandemic: job loss, financial problems, anxiety-inducing trips to the grocery store, wild unruly hairstyles, struggling with online school, coping with extended bouts of isolation, attempts to stave off feelings of loneliness/depression/anger/frustration/hopelessness, watching the dancing monkey in a sailor suit pretending to be the President of the United States on TV.

Sigh.

Who knew I would turn out to be so normal?

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