What Lana Knows About Hair

This morning I looked at my hair and decided that if I didn't get it cut in the next hour I would hack it off myself with the chicken shears. I haven't had a regular hairdresser since my beloved *can't remember her actual name since it was three years ago but she was awesome* left to return to the country. So I made an appointment with Lana's hairdresser, because her hair looks great, and it had to be better than the chicken shears.

Ten minutes later I was en route to meet Lana herself before attending my hair appointment. And as I parked the car and walked up to the cafe, I looked down at myself and realised the horrible truth. I was wearing a shapeless white top over a tank top, pared with nondescript jeans and flat boots. It was a disaster. My hair was going to look terrible.

this is what can happen if you don't dress well

I'm not dressed cool enough to go to the hairdresser! I texted Lana, overcome with panic.

Change! she replied, knowing exactly what I meant.

I'll have to buy clothes! I wrote. Or you'll have to swap with me. Do you look cool?

Of course, she responded. Cutting edge. So to speak. 

Well, she didn't look cool, at least, no cooler than me. She was wearing jeans and a plain black top, with Birks on her feet, and there was no way I was going to get a decent haircut in that outfit.

I considered buying something new, but there was no time, and besides, there was no money. Lana was prepared to shout me a coffee, but not a Zara ensemble, not even to guarantee the beauty of my coiffure. I considered stripping down to my tank top to show the stylist my tattoo, so that he would know I was worthy of an of-the-moment look. But that seemed a little far fetched, and there was a nip in the air, and so I trudged to my appointment knowing I was doomed.

Lana knows, as I do, that a hair stylist will only give you the cut he thinks you deserve. If you are daggy, you will get a daggy do. If you are hip, you will walk out looking like Miley Cyrus. If you are me, you will walk out looking pretty much the same as you always do, though with a head full of expensive product you felt too guilty not to buy.

Happily, the hairdresser seemed to accept my assurances that I was very young and groovy, despite all evidence to the contrary. He gave me a lovely cut, leaving me with a bounce in my hair and expensive product in my hand.

But my experience is the exception, not the rule. Listen to me. Listen to Lana. Wear your very best outfit to your hairdressing appointment, and make your stylist believe you are worthy of good things.

My hair is looking nice. But if only I'd worn my cute French top, grey skinny pants and Zara heeled boots, I would have looked fantastic.