So, This Happened...

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Today, The BadAssMama decided to be spontaneous and start the new year with a new look. In my head, I was going to get some pretty, face-framing highlights in a jazzy deep burgundy (my go-to shade). What I ended up with was this:


No, there's nothing wrong with the resolution on your computer. My head actually looks like a fiery red crayon factory exploded onto it. Don't get me wrong. It's a good look for some, just not for me. Maybe 20 years ago, but not today.

So, after walking away with a color that was nowhere near the one that we agreed upon during the consultation, you would think that I might have given the colorist a piece of my mind, or at least a stern talking to. Right? Right?! 

Not so much.

I watched as he and the other stylists oohed and aahed over how GORGEOUS my hair was. "What a beautiful color!" "You look 10 years younger!" "Look how it brightens your face!!" The happier they were, the more I felt my blood boil. But all I did was smile and say thank you as I silently formulated a plan of attack. I never complained, never cried. I paid the tab and  rushed straight from the salon to ANOTHER one that I frequented during my maternity leaves (and knew would be open on a Sunday). I asked how the head stylist would fix the hot red mess on top of my head and put my hair (and professional future) into her hands. 

The color-corrected outcome is this:


While there is a great deal of damage to my strands from the aggressive bleach he used for the highlights, I ended the day with a look very close to the one that I was actually going for. 

So what went wrong here? It would be easy to blame it on the stylist, or take this as a lesson that spontaneity simply does NOT work for me. Maybe, but neither would be true. The fact of the matter is that I didn't speak up for myself. I trusted the stylist's professional opinion above my own wants and needs. All of this could have been avoided had a clearly stated my end goal, "I would like simple, conservative, face-framing highlights to brighten up my sallow winter skin." No Crayola colors. No aggressive bleach, thank you very much. 

While I would prefer to have spent my Sunday in a million different ways, there is an extraordinary lesson to be learned here. Whenever I find myself under stress or taking out my frustration on those I hold most dear, it's usually linked to trusting someone else's opinions or expertise for what's best in my life (be it personal, professional or fashionable) above my own.

So, from now on The BadAssMama is standing up for herself. No need for fighting words. Just standing up for my wants and needs. 

What a novel concept...
Southern Girl said...

Something about being in the stylist's chair tends to mute us all UNTIL the next time we are in a chair after some hot mess happens. My second relaxer in town went much better for no other reason than I was much more direct and up front about my hair, its needs and my ultimate hope post relaxer. I was very happy but the first woman I saw yeah didn't say enough to make her get what I wanted and was mad at myself a week later when my hair was doing something weird.

Anonymous said...

oop's...

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