Fact: Rachael lovessssssssss any reason to go to a spa or salon. It can be for a haircut, color, a manicure, even waxing (well, not that kind of waxing!) My point is, it doesn't have to be a big to do. I just love the act of being pampered in any teeny, tiny way. For example, when my yoga instructor recently applied a bit of pressure to the small of my back, pushing me into the right position, I almost turned into a little puddle of ecstasy. (Wow, I really do need a date.) Anyway, massaging my scalp during a shampoo, pumicing my feet, or sprucing up the eyebrows is a pretty small way to bring me great joy. Sheesh, we all need a bit of pampering now and then, no?
When it was time to pay, the owner politely asked me for a measley $10. Genuinely touched by their sweetness toward this hysterical girl, clutching a magazine clipping, I held myself back from leaping over the counter and planting a big wet one on her cheek. The owner then pointed to the stylist and informed me, "Her name is Michele. You can come back?"
Even scheduling a haircut appointment (and looking forward to the nice accompanying scalp massage) is exciting to me. I had been going to the Aveda Institute but the last student kinda screwed me over with an uneven cut which management then refused to refund. (Boo, Aveda!!) I went to a real deal salon afterward and got a fabulous cut but almost had a panic attack on my way home, thinking about how my haircut just cost me half a day's wage.
So, I decided to try the beauty school route again. This time, I went to Empire Beauty School (as advertised in "Time Out New York"). I admit that I was a bit nervous about getting a $9 haircut but they emphasized in their ad that instructors closely guide their students. Why I decided to go this route since the Aveda Institute touted the same thing is beyond me.
Anyway, I went to the Bensonhurst school since it is in close proximity to my own Brooklyn neighborhood; yet it felt like a much grimier world just a few blocks over. I'm sure there are lovely pockets but when I turned onto 86th Street and saw a group of student cosmetologists outside smoking (and seemingly proud of it), I started to get nervous.
And then I walked inside.
I was flooded with a mix of memories: high school, the Pink Ladies, an entire scene from "West Side Story", a past waitressing job where my uneducated pregnant coworkers talked endlessly about how much they drank and how many times they got laid in the back of Billy's Dodge Ram. Gum smacking girls. LOUD girls. But the disgust I felt for this scene was overidden by my unsolicited fear of the situation. I looked around and felt like any one of these girls could so kick my ass if I didn't bum them a smoke or give them my lunch money.
Then "Cara" approached me and in fact, did not try to bully money or cigarettes from me. Rather, she simply informed me that she would be cutting my hair. She was not exactly friendly but she was pleasant enough and surprisingly professional. And she was not smacking any sort of gum. However, as soon as I told her what I wanted (a basic clean up of my chin length bob), she panicked and asked her instructor to take over. The instructor was very personable and happy to take charge. After answering several questions about what exactly I wanted, I gave her a photo from a magazine for further illustration. Then I sat back and relaxed, feeling a bit smug that for $9, I was getting a professional cut after all. I listened to her chatter to Cara about how glad she was that it was almost the end of the day. She couldn't wait to get out of there and start her vacation! She was snipping so quickly...
So, I decided to try the beauty school route again. This time, I went to Empire Beauty School (as advertised in "Time Out New York"). I admit that I was a bit nervous about getting a $9 haircut but they emphasized in their ad that instructors closely guide their students. Why I decided to go this route since the Aveda Institute touted the same thing is beyond me.
Anyway, I went to the Bensonhurst school since it is in close proximity to my own Brooklyn neighborhood; yet it felt like a much grimier world just a few blocks over. I'm sure there are lovely pockets but when I turned onto 86th Street and saw a group of student cosmetologists outside smoking (and seemingly proud of it), I started to get nervous.
And then I walked inside.
I was flooded with a mix of memories: high school, the Pink Ladies, an entire scene from "West Side Story", a past waitressing job where my uneducated pregnant coworkers talked endlessly about how much they drank and how many times they got laid in the back of Billy's Dodge Ram. Gum smacking girls. LOUD girls. But the disgust I felt for this scene was overidden by my unsolicited fear of the situation. I looked around and felt like any one of these girls could so kick my ass if I didn't bum them a smoke or give them my lunch money.
Then "Cara" approached me and in fact, did not try to bully money or cigarettes from me. Rather, she simply informed me that she would be cutting my hair. She was not exactly friendly but she was pleasant enough and surprisingly professional. And she was not smacking any sort of gum. However, as soon as I told her what I wanted (a basic clean up of my chin length bob), she panicked and asked her instructor to take over. The instructor was very personable and happy to take charge. After answering several questions about what exactly I wanted, I gave her a photo from a magazine for further illustration. Then I sat back and relaxed, feeling a bit smug that for $9, I was getting a professional cut after all. I listened to her chatter to Cara about how glad she was that it was almost the end of the day. She couldn't wait to get out of there and start her vacation! She was snipping so quickly...
I WILL NEVER GET A $9 HAIRCUT AGAIN!!!!!! I pride myself on never becoming upset about haircuts because well, it's hair. It will grow back. But this cut truly almost made me cry. She cut off way more than I had anticipated and hardly angled or stacked it at all! I was instantly transported to my 4th grade picture, in which my bowlish cut certainly did not flatter my soft, round face. She had cut it so bluntly! I couldn't believe that to her, I was now similar to the exotic brunette in the magazine with all of her lovely layers!
I made her angle it a bit more but she had botched my hair line so badly that it really didn't matter. She had no business doling out bobs! I hurriedly grabbed my things and stupidly tipped her. Then, for the first time in my life, I ran to the nearest salon in my neighborhood and begged the first stylist I saw to "PLEASE FIX THIS!" I couldn't even fathom leaving the house the next day with this little girl haircut. I would need to find my cache of culottes and jelly shoes first.
The gals from Carissa Salon on 5th Avenue are now my best friends. As the owner of the salon quietly swept and counted the till, my very polite, non-fear inducing stylist snipped away, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. She agreed, in her thick Russian accent, that the other stylist had done quite a number on me and that there was only so much she could do to fix it. Upon seeing my crestfallen expression, she pleasantly reminded me that it would soon grow to a length that she could more easily work with. When she was finished and I saw that she had created some layers, I could breathe again. I, at least, no longer felt like a 6-year-old.
When it was time to pay, the owner politely asked me for a measley $10. Genuinely touched by their sweetness toward this hysterical girl, clutching a magazine clipping, I held myself back from leaping over the counter and planting a big wet one on her cheek. The owner then pointed to the stylist and informed me, "Her name is Michele. You can come back?"
I shook my head vigorously. You bet I'll be back! As for the Empire Beauty School, I do realize that there are probably talented students and instructors working there. I just happened to get the one who was too busy thinking about her upcoming vacation. May she drink the dirty water!
Now let me return to my happy thoughts. My plug: Carissa Beauty Salon, 7725 5th Avenue, Brooklyn (718) 748-7777. Check 'em out!
1 comment:
Not sure if you knew this but a bob is one of the hardest hair cuts. If you can find someone who does it the way you like STAY with them no matter what the cost! I've seen so many people cry over sharp angles and odd shapes. Kudos to you for giving the school a try however your style is for experts only.
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