Location. I get my hair done in Beverly Hills at a great shop called Lukaro Salon. I loathe Beverly Hills. The smug factor is not only through the roof in that city, it has rocketed through the solar system. BH is filled with ultra richity-rich types and I am not one of them, and I am sure it shows. But I stomp through that city when I have to and get what I need to get done.
Hair wash. This feels lovely. How they scrub and massage the scalp....mmm....it is downright delicious. This part I like. But then they slick back my hair and plant me in front of a mirror the size of Texas. The slicked-back hair is NOT a good look for me. I have a hairline like this fella and I generally avoid the slicked-back look for a reason:
Sitting in the Chair. I hate sitting there in front of a GARGANTUAN mirror for a good three hours and not knowing where to look. I usually bury my face in a book, but every now and then I glance up and see a massive mirror and my stupid reflection and it is downright alarming. Boo!
Indecision. Inevitably the stylist asks, "So, what are we doing today?" And I always have a blank stare and think, "Just give me the face, hair, and bod of Sophia Loren in her prime and get a move on."
Time. It takes about 45 minutes for me to get to the salon, then it takes at least another 45 minutes to color my hair, then another 30 minutes or so to cut it, then at least another 20 minutes or so to style it. Then I drive all the way back home. The whole damn thing takes a good 3+ hours on a PRECIOUS SATURDAY. I wish they could do all of this while I was sleeping. It would be much more efficient.
Chatting. You have to chat. You just have to. And sometimes I feel like I am on deck to be entertaining. If you give 'em a laugh once, they never forget it, and they want more. Stress!!!
Cost. It is expensive. But they do a good job, so I just have to suck it up. I only go every two months or so, because more than that is just cost-prohibitive.
Tipping. I am flummoxed by tipping in salons. You have to tip the hair washer; you have tip the colorist; you have to tip the stylist. I think I end up WAY over-tipping, but I would rather be a generous (or possibly clueless?) tipper vs. looking like a cheapskate.
End result: Fabulous Hair. After it is all said and done, the best part is ending up with a divine hairdo that I will spend the next two months desperately trying to recreate, most often times with little success.
And the cycle continues....