Mollet: The Saga Ends
About two weeks ago, I really wanted a haircut. When my hair gets too long, it gets really straggly and falls out like crazy. I usually let it get to the point that I find myself suddenly frantic and wanting a haircut immediately. Last time it got to that point, I called CityLooks, but the girl that did it last time was booked for the next week. Luckily for mullet lovers everywhere, "Kim" was available that very evening at 5:00, so I took the appointment.
City Looks is generally overpriced and the stylists are pushy. Every time I go, I have to explain why I don't want to pay $90 for highlights. However, they give scalp massages before the five minutes of blissful hairwashing and shoulder rubs after the haircut. It's totally worth the extra ten bucks. The scalp massage on this fateful evening was my first clue that something was amiss. It was less "massage" and more of "squeezing, pulling, digging, and otherwise hurting." The hairwash wasn't much better.
I knew right away that "Kim" was total white trash. There was the occasional "he don't" and "ain't" peppered throughout the conversation. She also told the stylist next to her to dump the guy she was dating because he was a vegetarian, and vegetarians are pussies. I thought about kicking her ass to show her who the real pussy was, but she was white trash and had a scissors. That's a powerful combination, not one I want to mess with.
"Kim" asked me if I wanted shorter layers in the back. I foolishly thought that she was just asking if I wanted some layers shorter than the rest of my hair. She was really asking, "Do you want a mullet?" and I agreed. When I saw a 4 inch chunk of hair fall to the ground, I started panicking. When I asked her what she was doing, she showed me the back of her hair (which was actually pretty cute) and said that she was adding volume.
By the time she was done, she had only taken off about an inch from my longest layer and just about all of the top layer. I had told her that I wanted a few inches off so it would be off my collar. I also told her that after drying, I only wanted to spend less than five minutes styling my hair. Bitch took 25 minutes to poodle me up. I didn't want her hurting me or my hair anymore, so I told her it was fine. I didn't want to risk having her cut off more from the bottom, especially since the top was so puffy. After an excrutiating shoulder dig, I got the hell out of there.
When I saw Josh, he immediately started laughing. That's what every girl wants out of her supportive husband.
The next day, after all the shit she put in my hair was washed out, I realized I had an official mullet. There was a defined presence of both business (located in the front) and party (located in the back). I did the best I could with it and it looked decent, but since my hair is so thin to begin with, the little bit that she left long (the "party") was looking really thin. After consulting with several people, I decided to give it a week or two to let the top layer grow out a little. I almost caved on Day 2 when the girl in my office with the permed mullet complimented my new haircut. Someone talked me out of it by reminding me what happened the last time I got an impulsive haircut.
Katie did a great job on my hair. In the middle of it, The Laugh came out and she said, "I'm sorry... but this is a really bad haircut." It was pretty funny. She de-mulleted me quite nicely. It's shorter than I originally wanted, pre-mullet, but it looks fabulous. I spent some time on it before going out on Saturday, and I looked too hot for words.
I wanted to do a before and after picture to add to this, but I was smart enough to stay away from cameras for the ten days of mulletude. I don't want something popping up on my 50th birthday in a damn slideshow, or something. I also don't have a picture of the new haircut yet, but I'll post one as soon as I get copies from last Saturday's spectacle of hotness. For now, I can show you a very similar haircut.
You think I'm kidding? I'm not. This is exactly what it looked like post-drying, before I went after it with a curling iron. Go ahead, laugh it up, f'ers.
City Looks is generally overpriced and the stylists are pushy. Every time I go, I have to explain why I don't want to pay $90 for highlights. However, they give scalp massages before the five minutes of blissful hairwashing and shoulder rubs after the haircut. It's totally worth the extra ten bucks. The scalp massage on this fateful evening was my first clue that something was amiss. It was less "massage" and more of "squeezing, pulling, digging, and otherwise hurting." The hairwash wasn't much better.
I knew right away that "Kim" was total white trash. There was the occasional "he don't" and "ain't" peppered throughout the conversation. She also told the stylist next to her to dump the guy she was dating because he was a vegetarian, and vegetarians are pussies. I thought about kicking her ass to show her who the real pussy was, but she was white trash and had a scissors. That's a powerful combination, not one I want to mess with.
"Kim" asked me if I wanted shorter layers in the back. I foolishly thought that she was just asking if I wanted some layers shorter than the rest of my hair. She was really asking, "Do you want a mullet?" and I agreed. When I saw a 4 inch chunk of hair fall to the ground, I started panicking. When I asked her what she was doing, she showed me the back of her hair (which was actually pretty cute) and said that she was adding volume.
By the time she was done, she had only taken off about an inch from my longest layer and just about all of the top layer. I had told her that I wanted a few inches off so it would be off my collar. I also told her that after drying, I only wanted to spend less than five minutes styling my hair. Bitch took 25 minutes to poodle me up. I didn't want her hurting me or my hair anymore, so I told her it was fine. I didn't want to risk having her cut off more from the bottom, especially since the top was so puffy. After an excrutiating shoulder dig, I got the hell out of there.
When I saw Josh, he immediately started laughing. That's what every girl wants out of her supportive husband.
The next day, after all the shit she put in my hair was washed out, I realized I had an official mullet. There was a defined presence of both business (located in the front) and party (located in the back). I did the best I could with it and it looked decent, but since my hair is so thin to begin with, the little bit that she left long (the "party") was looking really thin. After consulting with several people, I decided to give it a week or two to let the top layer grow out a little. I almost caved on Day 2 when the girl in my office with the permed mullet complimented my new haircut. Someone talked me out of it by reminding me what happened the last time I got an impulsive haircut.
I made it about a week and a half. On Friday, I had an appointment at a place in Marion called Serendipity. A few of my coworkers have had nice things about it so I wanted to give it a try. The girl cutting my hair was my age or a little younger and had the most horrible laugh. It started out normal and boisterous, but then there was this loud donkey/choke/gasp noise afterwards. It was truly terrifying, and I had been warned beforehand. The white trashiness there wasn't much better than with "Kim," but they were saying funny things at least. When I told her that my husband laughed at my hair, the owner gave me The Laugh. I flinched, sorta like Maggie does when we walk in and see that she's ripped up all of our magazines, toilet paper, checks, bills, etc.
I wanted to do a before and after picture to add to this, but I was smart enough to stay away from cameras for the ten days of mulletude. I don't want something popping up on my 50th birthday in a damn slideshow, or something. I also don't have a picture of the new haircut yet, but I'll post one as soon as I get copies from last Saturday's spectacle of hotness. For now, I can show you a very similar haircut.
You think I'm kidding? I'm not. This is exactly what it looked like post-drying, before I went after it with a curling iron. Go ahead, laugh it up, f'ers.
posted by Molly at 4:54 PM
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