After numerous requests, I’ve decided to post before and after pictures of the haircut experience.
Now, notice, I said “pictures” and not “photos.”
These will be an artist’s rendition.
Look, there I am. Smiling, happy. Donning the haircut I’ve had and loved for years, a little rusty, but I don’t have a care in the world except how I’m going to finish my thesis, the work for my classes, plan a trip to Morocco and find a job in the U.S. that fulfills me by the end of my Master’s program.
Then I get hoodwinked by a so-called stylist who tells me my haircut is ugly and I need a new look.
The signs were there: He said I was going to be modern. I am not modern. He said it was going to be a very personal (meaning individual) haircut. Translation: A haircut for freaks.
I don’t know what I was thinking. Therefore, I accept partial responsibility for this:
See that part there at the bottom? That’s the mullet. That part got cut off, but then when I was among friends the next day, they politely pointed out that, while the mullet was gone, a rat-tail remained (another Spanish haircut phenomenon.) I promptly had my roommate cut that off, too.
So I am left with super short, and very big hair. No pony-tails, no round-brush blow-drying, in fact a brush is no longer necessary!
I’m going to save tons of money on conditioner.
I cried and cried on the phone to my mom on Sunday. I feel bad for her. I can seriously keep it together when I’m talking to other people, but if I’m upset and I get on the phone with my mom, all hell breaks loose. It may not have helped that she said, “I like you with long hair.” Sob. Sob.
She hasn’t seen it yet (my parents have yet to figure out how to work their webcam) but because of my horrible sobs, she has offered to pay for hair extensions. I’m going to think about it.
In the meantime, I went to work on Monday and there were screams, gasps, and a lot of people not knowing who I was. Seriously. One teacher asked a class of three-year-olds if they had met me yet and they said no. She reintroduced me, bless her heart.
I find myself waving to many of them in the hallway and only getting blank stares.
Most of the Spaniards (seem to) like it. I mean, it’s right up their alley. And I really appreciate that they train children from a young age to tell someone who’s had a haircut automatically that they look pretty. I’m not kidding, it is as automatic as saying “Bless you” after someone sneezes. “Yougotyourhaircutyoulookpretty.”
In conclusion, I apologize for the artist’s rendition of the mullet. And I also apologize for the poor quality of the artist’s rendition, but the artist is working with scarce resources and even scarcer talent. I have tons of people every day passing judgement on this new “look”, and I’m not ready to post it for the world. Plus, I need you laughing with me and not at me. You know?