On “fresh” hairstyles and other aging-related trauma

“So what are we doing today?” asked the stylist.

Her name was Sarah (a positive thing for me – I’ve never met a Sarah or a Sara I didn’t like). I’d found her on Yelp, where her five star reviews and close proximity to my house stood out among the masses.

“Welllll,” I said, cringing but deciding it was best to confess. “I’m kind of a stick in the mud. I’ve pretty much had the same hairstyle for about 15 years, with an occasional deviation that doesn’t last. Aaaand…I haven’t had a haircut since September. But I think I’m ready for something…fresh.”

She didn’t miss a beat.

“Ok,” she said. “How would you feel if I took off, like, five inches?”

I nodded in agreement. At the same time, my inner voice was socking it to me.

What are you doing? it screamed. You are the woman who has nightmares about cutting off her hair. Nightmares!

Fifteen minutes later, there was a pile of hair on the floor, and I was staring in delighted surprise at my hair – now a shaggy layered bob – in the mirror.

“Do you do eyebrows, too?” I asked Sarah, the words tumbling out of their own accord. “Ever since I had a baby, my eyebrows have gone progressively crazy. Wild. I can’t handle them.”

TMI, said my inner voice.

But Sarah was nonplussed.

“That happens,” she said matter-of-factly, leading me to the waxing station. “Especially to women who have baby girls. Something to do with estrogen levels. Did you have a girl?”

Two minutes later, I was admiring my streamlined brows in the mirror.

I very happily handed over my debit card. There may have even been a flourish.

Because sometimes, we just need a fresh haircut and an eyebrow wax. And it is money well-spent.

I will probably write more about aging as the year goes on, because – well, I’m turning 40. And there are weird things happening. Like the wild eyebrow hairs. And other hairs growing in places they have never grown before. And the fact that my mother’s hands have somehow been transplanted onto the ends of my wrists (no offense, Mom). And the fact that my fingernails do not look, feel, or act like my fingernails anymore.

As for the dark circles – I blame L. One hundred percent. (Apparently, I can also blame my eyebrows on her.)

I think maybe the tradeoff for liking oneself so much better as a person at 40 is that the aging process begins to make itself visible. And we have to deal with it.

So there are haircuts. And eyebrow waxes. And Stitch Fix. And Birchbox. And – well, you get it.

Thank goodness for that.

Photo credit: Susan Sermoneta. License: Creative Commons 2.0