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bloodygranuaileJust a word of warning for anyone who, like me, wishes to have their hair as long as possible, and hits a point where the bottom few inches are no longer hair and absolutely must be removed:
The proper procedure for asking that the scorched ends be trimmed is not to politely request that the bottom six inches be taken off. The proper thing to do is look the hairdresser straight in the eye and tell her, "I need to have the bottom six inches taken off because if I tried to dye them again they'd disintigrate anyway. I loathe short hair with a passion and do not actually want to get my hair cut at all but unfortunately must. If you're going to fuck this up, please err on the side of making it too long (if such a thing is possible), because if more than six inches of my hair is gone when you're finished, I will track you down and kill you myself. Do not forget that I have to live with whatever you do to me while I'm here. IS THAT PERFECTLY CLEAR?"
This might seem a bit harsh, but if you are polite, you run the risk of the hairdresser deciding that she knows what's best for you and cutting off twice as much hair as you asked her to. That's what happened to me today, and while I've been told by various peoples who aren't me and therefore are not of any importance when it comes to my own appearance that it looks good, it is not what I want to look like and I do NOT believe it looks good. If it looked good, it'd be LONG. However, as it is, it is WAY TOO FUCKING SHORT FOR ME. It might "look good", it might make me look ten years older, or make me look like a New Yorker, or whatever, but it is NOT my style. I DO NOT WANT TO LOOK LIKE A TWENTY-SIX-YEAR-OLD MANHATTANITE; I WANT TO LOOK LIKE MYSELF!!! Dammit, can't I at least have power over one little inconsequential thing in my own damned life?
I'm trying to keep it in perspective--it's just hair, for Christ's sake--but that gets a little difficult because I tend to tie things together and make everything symbolic of everything else. In this case, it's symbolic of my own bloody powerlessness. I can say whatever I want, I can tell people what to do, they can say they'll listen, but nobody listens to me--the fact that the hairdresser was bloody crazy wins. I have no influence. I could take it one step further and make it about conformity--other people have their [mis]conceptions of what looks good, and they force them on me without my consent and against their direct orders, and then tell me to lighten up when I get pissed off, because after all, I look good. THEY can do what THEY think looks good to THEIR own appearance, but I want my individuality back, goddammit! If I'd wanted their opinion, I'd have asked for it--and ditto for if I'd wanted fucking shoulder-length hair.
And REALLY overanalyzing things, we get to the Nature v. Nurture debate. In this case, Claudia gets repeatedly screwed over over the course of her pathetic little life, draining her of her respect for other humans and inclinations to be polite: asking nicely for something resulted in something different than what she asked for, so the steps following consisted of informing her mother that they're going to Sally Beauty Supply to get hair dye tomorrow, and informing Ella that after school on Wednesday, she's coming over and they're fixing this inasmuch as they can before March, which is when the crazy hairdresser lady said it'd be back to its previous length (and if it isn't? Well, let's not go there... it won't be pleasant...).
In fact, Claudia is considering dropping all attempts at manners whatsoever and becoming as blunt and obnoxious as possible. If it's the only way to get people to leave her alone, it's worth a shot. Although we all know that in this culture, NO ONE will EVER leave you alone, will they? And there's the really annoying bit--if you do not show and fiercely protect individuality, they will take it away from you and expect you not to care. If you do make a show of it, they decide that you have behavioral problems and the way to solve that is to force you to "conform, consume, obey". I just fucking want to wear my hair long, IS THAT SO BLOODY UNREASONABLE A THING TO ASK?!
Oh--and if anyone, anyone at all, reacts positively to what's happened to me tomorrow (this includes you, Ella), I will have to beat them. The proper reaction to this is "What the hell happened to you?" Honestly, if I had, in some fit of utter character-rupture-ness, done this on purpose, I'd fully expect to be thoroughly beaten for hypocrisy, and I'd deserve it. You all know my fixation with long hair; you should be able to deduce that I'm going to take any happiness about me being robbed of my own as a severe insult.
Now that I'm done overreacting, you are all free to kill me. (Please.)
-Claudia
The proper procedure for asking that the scorched ends be trimmed is not to politely request that the bottom six inches be taken off. The proper thing to do is look the hairdresser straight in the eye and tell her, "I need to have the bottom six inches taken off because if I tried to dye them again they'd disintigrate anyway. I loathe short hair with a passion and do not actually want to get my hair cut at all but unfortunately must. If you're going to fuck this up, please err on the side of making it too long (if such a thing is possible), because if more than six inches of my hair is gone when you're finished, I will track you down and kill you myself. Do not forget that I have to live with whatever you do to me while I'm here. IS THAT PERFECTLY CLEAR?"
This might seem a bit harsh, but if you are polite, you run the risk of the hairdresser deciding that she knows what's best for you and cutting off twice as much hair as you asked her to. That's what happened to me today, and while I've been told by various peoples who aren't me and therefore are not of any importance when it comes to my own appearance that it looks good, it is not what I want to look like and I do NOT believe it looks good. If it looked good, it'd be LONG. However, as it is, it is WAY TOO FUCKING SHORT FOR ME. It might "look good", it might make me look ten years older, or make me look like a New Yorker, or whatever, but it is NOT my style. I DO NOT WANT TO LOOK LIKE A TWENTY-SIX-YEAR-OLD MANHATTANITE; I WANT TO LOOK LIKE MYSELF!!! Dammit, can't I at least have power over one little inconsequential thing in my own damned life?
I'm trying to keep it in perspective--it's just hair, for Christ's sake--but that gets a little difficult because I tend to tie things together and make everything symbolic of everything else. In this case, it's symbolic of my own bloody powerlessness. I can say whatever I want, I can tell people what to do, they can say they'll listen, but nobody listens to me--the fact that the hairdresser was bloody crazy wins. I have no influence. I could take it one step further and make it about conformity--other people have their [mis]conceptions of what looks good, and they force them on me without my consent and against their direct orders, and then tell me to lighten up when I get pissed off, because after all, I look good. THEY can do what THEY think looks good to THEIR own appearance, but I want my individuality back, goddammit! If I'd wanted their opinion, I'd have asked for it--and ditto for if I'd wanted fucking shoulder-length hair.
And REALLY overanalyzing things, we get to the Nature v. Nurture debate. In this case, Claudia gets repeatedly screwed over over the course of her pathetic little life, draining her of her respect for other humans and inclinations to be polite: asking nicely for something resulted in something different than what she asked for, so the steps following consisted of informing her mother that they're going to Sally Beauty Supply to get hair dye tomorrow, and informing Ella that after school on Wednesday, she's coming over and they're fixing this inasmuch as they can before March, which is when the crazy hairdresser lady said it'd be back to its previous length (and if it isn't? Well, let's not go there... it won't be pleasant...).
In fact, Claudia is considering dropping all attempts at manners whatsoever and becoming as blunt and obnoxious as possible. If it's the only way to get people to leave her alone, it's worth a shot. Although we all know that in this culture, NO ONE will EVER leave you alone, will they? And there's the really annoying bit--if you do not show and fiercely protect individuality, they will take it away from you and expect you not to care. If you do make a show of it, they decide that you have behavioral problems and the way to solve that is to force you to "conform, consume, obey". I just fucking want to wear my hair long, IS THAT SO BLOODY UNREASONABLE A THING TO ASK?!
Oh--and if anyone, anyone at all, reacts positively to what's happened to me tomorrow (this includes you, Ella), I will have to beat them. The proper reaction to this is "What the hell happened to you?" Honestly, if I had, in some fit of utter character-rupture-ness, done this on purpose, I'd fully expect to be thoroughly beaten for hypocrisy, and I'd deserve it. You all know my fixation with long hair; you should be able to deduce that I'm going to take any happiness about me being robbed of my own as a severe insult.
Now that I'm done overreacting, you are all free to kill me. (Please.)
-Claudia
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no subject
Date: 2003-11-24 07:07 pm (UTC)Sorry 'bout your hair. Least it'll grow back, eventually. :)
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Date: 2003-11-27 07:59 am (UTC)Claudia;
Think this over for a moment. Our society is completely fucked up as it is; we have morons running around claiming that they speak to God and that women that are fifty pounds underweight, tan, blonde and with implants are 'the ideal women.' Of course they cannot cut someone`s hair! Of course they are complete assholes about it! Our society is based upon control; controlling other people instead of reaching the proper amounts of controlling themselves. And as fucking ridiculous as it may be, unfortunately, that is how our society is run. In the future, I would do exactly what you said to begin with: be a complete asshole about it and perhaps it will make that person understand that they do not know what is best FOR YOU. Forgive my ranting, but Jesus Christ, these people need to learn how to follow the proper instructions given. Bastards.
-Autumn