Braindressing

phrenologyI got a haircut yesterday. It’s always an interesting experience when you go to a new hairdresser because there is the possibility that you will walk out of the place with a reminder of your trauma on top of your head. Sometimes if a hairdresser doesn’t listen they can end up doing the exact opposite of what you want them to do. So if you say “please I want to keep the length”, they might just cut it all off. And so the next time you go in you ask them to cut it all off, thinking it’s some kind of reverse psychology game and then they do indeed cut it all off – again. Sometimes you might seriously want them to cut all your hair off and you leave the hairdressers with hair extensions, bright pink braids, and bangles hanging from your ears. It’s an interesting world – the “hairdressers”. And you know that when you take that first step there’s no going back. Well, actually there is. You do always have the option of running out of the hairdressers waving your hands maniacally in the air screaming “escape! escape!” But you run the risk of looking silly.

Getting your hair cut is a big deal. Hair frames the face. Would the Monalisa look as beautiful without a frame? Then again, she doesn’t have any eyebrows, perhaps she could do with a trip to the hairdresser. Come to think of it, maybe she’s already been. Maybe she asked to keep the length and they cut off her eyebrows instead. Getting a haircut is scary, and it’s even scarier when you don’t know the language. The hairdresser yesterday was not what I expected. First of all, I was expecting to enjoy a nice relaxing shampoo and scalp massage, but the young lady was very rough. She massaged my scalp as if massaging the skin wasn’t good enough. She was trying to reach deep into the brain. Then she dried my hair as if I were some kind of rabid dog. But that’s okay. I have to admit it was oddly enjoyable. She sat me down in a comfy chair and made me a cup of tea. I then explained to her what I wanted to do with my hair. I said I wanted texture. She said she didn’t understand.

So she started hacking away. She was a maniac, enchanted by some invisible force known only to those that follow the path of the “Hair“. She hacked and chopped, thinned and trimmed. Hair was flying all over the place and I was worrying – I was worrying because you just never know what’s going to happen in a hairdresser. At the same time, I realised that it is wise to invest confidence in one’s hairdresser. There is a point in any haircut when you just have to trust that the hairdresser has listened to you. It serves to calm you down and accept your fate. At the same time though, it is important that you keep your invested trust to yourself. If you start acting overly polite all of sudden they start to grow suspicious of you. Or they might have a sudden rush of inspiration from your agreeable nature and cut off half of your head. Or they might think that your forced politeness means that you are unhappy with the haircut. That’s when they force you down onto the ground and cut off your eyebrows.

It seemed that my hairdresser didn’t want anything to do with my hair. All she wanted was my brain. My hair was just an obstacle to her real purpose. She had to clear away my hair to see more clearly where she intended to lobotomise. At one stage she even scratched my ear, and I imagined that it was a failed attempt to cut it off completely. If she was successful she would extract my brain out of my ear canal and start the process of trimming it. “Braindressing” I call it. She would take out my brain, analyse the many different parts, and say “you don’t need this”, then shake her head, “and you don’t need that childhood memory”. Then she would attach the bits of my brain that she fancied to her own enormous head. At which point I would think to myself, “I knew there was something unsual about her! It’s her over-proportioned decoupage brain!”

The haircut was very quick. In the end she gave me the mirror to look at my hair and asked me what I thought, and I said “excellent” because it was. She really knew what she was doing.

Day 10, tick.

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