Tonight I did something terrible.
Something so out of character that even now, after the fact, I can't believe it happened.
Something I would never have ever thought - in a million years - that I would do.
And really, I don't want to admit it - but I think that if I don't get the guilt and shame off my chest it will only haunt me, so here it goes...
I got my hair cut at Supercuts.
It was not planned, it just happened. After I saw this picture my friend took on our recent trip to Switzerland, I knew something had to be done about my mane.
With my return to New York being right around the corner, I wanted to hold out for the man I consider the hair god to trim my tresses, but I decided today that the situation was out of control and couldn't wait. Especially with the prospect of meeting a yacht-owning boyfriend this weekend in Monaco.
No one is going to go for a girl with split ends.
But this is London, and getting a day of appointment anywhere, for anything, is literally impossible. So I was frustrated, and worried, and not in a sound state of mind as I started walking towards the gym for my body attack class. And that's when I saw Supercuts in the distance.
I may well be pickier about who touches my hair with scissors than anyone on the planet. But desperate times call for desperate measures....
I figured how hard could it be to take just a mere inch of my ends? You can't really screw that up, right? Worst case scenario, I wear my hair up everyday until I get back to New York. So despite my heart screaming "don't do it" in I went.
I sat in the "stylist's" chair like it was the electric chair. Stiff as board, my stomach churning, panic rising. She didn't speak English well. She had a dark line down the roots of the bleached, botched -bobbed hair. I was terrified that I was making a huge mistake.
"Hi. I just need a trim, please. Don't touch my layers, don't do anything but trim the ends - I just need an inch off please," I nervously muttered.
She held up a chunk of my hair between two fingers, easily 6" long, and said, "this much?"
I leapt out of the chair like it was on fire. "No, no, no!! GOD NO!"
I felt a heart attack coming on - I was going to leave, but her colleague stepped in and said something in her language as she nodded in understanding.
I really need this haircut.....I really need a trim..... my hair is weirdly long....everything will be okay, I repeated this mantra to myself, sitting back down, slowly.
I took the last inch of my goldie locks between my fingers and showed her. "No more than this, please." Then I shut my eyes, bit my lip, and prayed.
10 minutes later, I paid her £13.95 and was out the door, split endless.
And you know what, it looks good! I am certainly better off now than I was earlier today - and it's all thanks to Supercuts.
Will I ever go there again? NO.
Will I be paying the hair god a visit upon my return to New York to give me a proper cut? YES.
However, Supercuts was a good temporary solution, and although it was scary, it was also strangely thrilling to do something so out of character. But I guess going from one extreme to the other is not something all that unusal for me if I really think about it...
I was a vegetarian for a year, and then ordered Ox Cheek while dining at Jules Verne.
Some days I carry my Chloe bag, some days I go for my clutch from Forever 21.
One minute I'm listening to Taylor Swift, and the next minute I switch to the Rolling Stones.
I'll wear a leather bomber jacket and heavy eyeliner Monday, and a pink preppy blouse and pearls Tuesday.
I typically spend $200+ on a haircut at one of New York's top salons, but today I got a $15 trim at Supercuts.
Last night I was at the Serpentine Gallery sipping passion fruit martinis with the most important people in the Design world at a chic party for World of Interiors magazine, and tonight I made chocolate chip cookies with my flatmates and watched Clueless in my cupcake print pajamas.
I live a life of extremes - and I wouldn't have it any other way.
The only thing I won't sway back and forth on is my hair color: I'm a blonde. Always have been, always will be.
Something so out of character that even now, after the fact, I can't believe it happened.
Something I would never have ever thought - in a million years - that I would do.
And really, I don't want to admit it - but I think that if I don't get the guilt and shame off my chest it will only haunt me, so here it goes...
I got my hair cut at Supercuts.
It was not planned, it just happened. After I saw this picture my friend took on our recent trip to Switzerland, I knew something had to be done about my mane.
With my return to New York being right around the corner, I wanted to hold out for the man I consider the hair god to trim my tresses, but I decided today that the situation was out of control and couldn't wait. Especially with the prospect of meeting a yacht-owning boyfriend this weekend in Monaco.
No one is going to go for a girl with split ends.
But this is London, and getting a day of appointment anywhere, for anything, is literally impossible. So I was frustrated, and worried, and not in a sound state of mind as I started walking towards the gym for my body attack class. And that's when I saw Supercuts in the distance.
No Appointment Required
Hair Cut £13.95
I may well be pickier about who touches my hair with scissors than anyone on the planet. But desperate times call for desperate measures....
I figured how hard could it be to take just a mere inch of my ends? You can't really screw that up, right? Worst case scenario, I wear my hair up everyday until I get back to New York. So despite my heart screaming "don't do it" in I went.
I sat in the "stylist's" chair like it was the electric chair. Stiff as board, my stomach churning, panic rising. She didn't speak English well. She had a dark line down the roots of the bleached, botched -bobbed hair. I was terrified that I was making a huge mistake.
"Hi. I just need a trim, please. Don't touch my layers, don't do anything but trim the ends - I just need an inch off please," I nervously muttered.
She held up a chunk of my hair between two fingers, easily 6" long, and said, "this much?"
I leapt out of the chair like it was on fire. "No, no, no!! GOD NO!"
I felt a heart attack coming on - I was going to leave, but her colleague stepped in and said something in her language as she nodded in understanding.
I really need this haircut.....I really need a trim..... my hair is weirdly long....everything will be okay, I repeated this mantra to myself, sitting back down, slowly.
I took the last inch of my goldie locks between my fingers and showed her. "No more than this, please." Then I shut my eyes, bit my lip, and prayed.
10 minutes later, I paid her £13.95 and was out the door, split endless.
And you know what, it looks good! I am certainly better off now than I was earlier today - and it's all thanks to Supercuts.
Will I ever go there again? NO.
Will I be paying the hair god a visit upon my return to New York to give me a proper cut? YES.
However, Supercuts was a good temporary solution, and although it was scary, it was also strangely thrilling to do something so out of character. But I guess going from one extreme to the other is not something all that unusal for me if I really think about it...
I was a vegetarian for a year, and then ordered Ox Cheek while dining at Jules Verne.
Some days I carry my Chloe bag, some days I go for my clutch from Forever 21.
One minute I'm listening to Taylor Swift, and the next minute I switch to the Rolling Stones.
I'll wear a leather bomber jacket and heavy eyeliner Monday, and a pink preppy blouse and pearls Tuesday.
I typically spend $200+ on a haircut at one of New York's top salons, but today I got a $15 trim at Supercuts.
Last night I was at the Serpentine Gallery sipping passion fruit martinis with the most important people in the Design world at a chic party for World of Interiors magazine, and tonight I made chocolate chip cookies with my flatmates and watched Clueless in my cupcake print pajamas.
I live a life of extremes - and I wouldn't have it any other way.
The only thing I won't sway back and forth on is my hair color: I'm a blonde. Always have been, always will be.
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