Since Covid, my hair maintenance has greatly diminished. What had been a cut and some color on a routinely scheduled interval became a basic trim on a much more widely spaced frequency.
I grew out my bangs and discovered that the width of my forehead no longer seemed so extreme that it needed to be disguised. The color of my hair faded into a blend of strawberry blonde and silvery grey as it grew down my back to nearly waist length, the longest it had ever been in my life.
My plan was to eventually cut it off and donate the discarded locks to an organization that might make use of it for someone in need of a wig. But, as I’ve come to learn, my hair grows really slowly…
I became impatient with the amount of time it was taking to achieve the length required to donate. I was tired of my hair being everywhere. It was constantly caught between my handbag shoulder strap and my shoulder and my back and car seat. I needed to braid it for sleeping otherwise I was constantly tugging it when I rolled over in bed. It was in my mouth and the drain.
I began to plan a big cut for my birthday in September, a way of greeting the new decade I seem to be fortunate enough to receive.
Midway through my stay in San Francisco, I began to consider making the change while here, on vacation celebrating retirement, with dear friends and impressive amounts of wine.
Maybe I didn’t have to continue holding onto something that was no longer serving me and which did not seem to be capable of reaching the length demanded to be an acceptable donation.
I had begun to think about my hair as if it was on par with shrubs or trees I often see growing in front of the windows of a house. They had been planted, I imagine, to improve the property and to provide a decorative touch. But, as these plantings grew over the years, the residents had failed to notice their increasing size until finally they hid the home instead of enhancing it.
Overgrown isn’t flattering.
Finding a salon that might have an opening for a new client during the very limited time remaining available to me, was a slightly stressful rush. I was unwilling to spend more than $100 for a cut, with wash and styling, a figure I knew I could easily far exceed. I read reviews on Yelp and Google and far too many threads on SF Reddit, before reaching out by phone early Monday morning to Joseph Alexander Salon and leaving a message.
By noon, my voicemail had been returned and an appointment was scheduled for late the next morning.
The experience, other than a little sentimental energy expended at the thought that I failed to provide a donation to someone in need, was really positive. Joseph was great – he consulted with me (and my friends) about what I was looking for, my level of devotion to hair maintenance and even offered an opinion that aligned closely with where we were all going with this cut. Less than an hour later, with a small pile of hair on the floor behind me, my shaggy lob was finished.
I couldn’t be happier!
My hair now swings above my shoulders, a part of my body which has been revealed for the first time in years, reminding me that I’ve always liked my broad and strong shoulders.
With the dead ends cut off, my hair feels thicker and the color seems more even. There’s still enough length to pull it back from my face or put it up, but I feel lighter. Running my fingers through it takes much less time and I encounter far fewer snags and knots.
Somehow I feel both more youthful and more put together, which is kind of a unique combination to experience. I’m kind of proud of myself for making the decision to seek out a salon in a city with which I’m fairly unfamiliar, and for committing to a significantly different hair style.
Change can be hard.
Growth is good.
Knowing when to cut something off is liberating.
DelSo 