Thursday, August 12, 2010


I am not a usual customer at hair salons. Anyone who knows me knows that with the exception of when I was a baby and for a brief period of time in college, I have had long hair all my life.

When I did cut my hair short in college, I donated it to an organization called Locks of Love that makes wigs for children, and people often ask me if that is why I'm "growing it out". While I have supported them in the past, and likely will donate to them again one day, really the answer is no. I just like having long hair.

But there is another reason. Most of the time, whenever I walk into a hair salon, everyone in the shop will look up at me. And they get this hungry look in their eyes. That look you see in cartoons, when they have been stranded on an island and are starving, and they begin to envision their friend as a giant walking t-bone steak. When I walk into hair salons, I feel like a giant steak that they're just dying to cut into and devour. It scares me, and I don't trust them. I will only go into a hair salon for a cut if I feel that I and my hair will be safe.

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