Failure of the Day: The Hair Doctors
I spent not one minute shy of four hours being pecked at by proto-hairdressers yesterday. Usually when you do a hair modeling thingie, it's not that different that going to a regular hair-goop applying appointment. But yesterday I arrived at the fancypants salon at 9AM and was told by my proto-hairdresser that she had made a mistake, and she couldn't see me after all because she had a demo that morning. I had no idea what a demo was but I must have looked crestfallen.
What it meant was that all the proto-hairdressers had a class called "Variations on Redheads" that morning, in which the hairdresser teachers demonstrated redhead-making techniques for all the students. It turned out that they could use me as a model for the class though, since the night before I thought it might be nice to do a red and black hair thing.
Hair modeling for a demo is a very different beast than just being a regular hair model though. For one thing, the instructor does your hair, which is a good thing, but all the uber-hipster students stand around and watch. It reminded me of nothing so much as the old days of being a patient in a teaching hospital where the tiniest of examinations are raised to a kind of performance art.
It was similar also in that nobody knew what to do with what I presented them. No matter where I go, no one's ever seen a head like mine. Neurologists, cosmeticians, whatever—I can confound every type of professional that works above the shoulders, it would seem.
And also like the hospital, the end results were unpredictable. My hair doesn't look remotely like what I asked for (fat alternating stripes of purplish-copper and black) but it looks pretty cool anyway. And it was entirely free, which of course, one can't argue with.
I spent not one minute shy of four hours being pecked at by proto-hairdressers yesterday. Usually when you do a hair modeling thingie, it's not that different that going to a regular hair-goop applying appointment. But yesterday I arrived at the fancypants salon at 9AM and was told by my proto-hairdresser that she had made a mistake, and she couldn't see me after all because she had a demo that morning. I had no idea what a demo was but I must have looked crestfallen.
What it meant was that all the proto-hairdressers had a class called "Variations on Redheads" that morning, in which the hairdresser teachers demonstrated redhead-making techniques for all the students. It turned out that they could use me as a model for the class though, since the night before I thought it might be nice to do a red and black hair thing.
Hair modeling for a demo is a very different beast than just being a regular hair model though. For one thing, the instructor does your hair, which is a good thing, but all the uber-hipster students stand around and watch. It reminded me of nothing so much as the old days of being a patient in a teaching hospital where the tiniest of examinations are raised to a kind of performance art.
It was similar also in that nobody knew what to do with what I presented them. No matter where I go, no one's ever seen a head like mine. Neurologists, cosmeticians, whatever—I can confound every type of professional that works above the shoulders, it would seem.
And also like the hospital, the end results were unpredictable. My hair doesn't look remotely like what I asked for (fat alternating stripes of purplish-copper and black) but it looks pretty cool anyway. And it was entirely free, which of course, one can't argue with.
posted by Nancy @ 10:56 AM
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