There comes a moment in every person’s life when they catch their reflection and think ‘Jesus.’
OK, so maybe not Miranda Kerr. Or Margot Robbie. But most people find themselves stunned by the average-ness of their own appearance at one time or another.
Yesterday, I had that moment.
I just really was not looking great. Winter was partly to blame, lending itself to dry skin, frumpy clothes, and too many nights in ignoring my appearance.
To make matters worse I'd been trying to live out my childhood dream of having long, luscious hair, despite having a head of
feral fine and knotty strands, predisposed to merging into one massive dreadlock overnight.
So I decided it was time for a change; a haircut. I needed it all gone.
Yet while I was paying an obscene amount for a 're-style' (it's a haircut, let's call it a haircut), I had a truly bizarre hairdressing experience — and now there's something I need my hairdresser to know.
As she sighed and tutted while attempting to comb my hair, telling me my hair was 'dead' and 'damaged', and I should really buy hundreds of dollars worth of mildly effective products to fix it, I felt like saying: I don't care.
I don't care.
She challenged me as to whether I look after my hair and why it's so dry. She asked me where I last got it cut (obviously they totally botched it). She reiterated the importance of caring for my hair and all the horrible, scary things that might happen if I don't.