The joke has always been "only dumb girls go to hair school because they can't do anything else". Now, when it comes to math, I've used that excuse, but frankly I'm tired of it. We're not stupid because we don't have a college degree. I always though going to hair school would be so easy, fun and a great way to be hands on. I have ADD, so college life in huge classrooms, learning about topics I had no interest in, just wasn't cutting it. However, I graduated high school with a 4.0gpa and I did well in the little college I did do. Hair school isn't about learning how to tease people's hair, look cute in all black, and not accidentally shave someone's hair off. Although, let's be honest, those are important things to master.
Freshman part of hair school is 6 weeks in a classroom. You learn chemistry, the color wheels, electricity, skin and nail diseases, every bone in the body, muscles in the body, how to start your own business and be successful and much more.
With being a hair stylist comes frustration, angry clients, accidental chunks taken from someone's hair, unwanted therapy sessions, and some of the weirdest, craziest, nastiest people you'll ever encounter. I've had clients make me happy & confident, and I've had clients make me cry and want to quit my job. Here are those stories:
The Nasty Kind:
I'll start out by saying that not only do I have ADD but I have OCD that sends me into constant panic attacks in fear I will get a disease and slowly die.
A client came and sat in my chair on a busy Saturday. He was on the stinky side and it wasn't just because his crack was showing. Luckily he just wanted a buzz cut with a 1, which is the shortest you can cut without using a razor. Easy, peasy right? FALSE. As I started buzzing, something flew over my shoulder. Scabs. Scabs were all over his head. Trying to hide how disgusted I was, I wondered if he felt that, and if it hurt him. He didn't say a word. So I gulped down the throw up in my mouth and decided to just hurry up and get it over with. His head started bleeding and it soaked between my blades. I was shaking. Was I going to now get scabs all over my head? Aids from his blood touching my stuff? Will he leave and I'll smell bad? Every irrational thought was racing in my mind. He left happy, I cried in the break room while compulsively cleaning my clippers over and over. Good times.
The Saddest Therapy Session:
Polynesians are know for their thick, black, curly, long hair. It's a tough choice when they decide to cut it off or change the style. It's even harder when it's not what you want, but what you need to happen. A 6 year old girl sat in my chair, almost in tears. Her whole family around her to show support. This girl had previously had long, pretty hair, just like her sisters, but I was looking at a girl with a crooked shoulder length cut. The mother informed me that they had recently found out she was being sexually abused by the male babysitter, whom they thought they could trust. Since he had always played with her hair, the girl wanted it all cut off so she could try and move on. I have been sexually abused, so hearing that an innocent little girl was feeling the hell I went through, shattered my heart into pieces. I tried so hard not to cry while fixing her haircut. I wanted her to feel pretty again, and like she was worth a million bucks. She even decided to get bangs. That girl left, with the biggest smile, and her mom hugged me with tears in her eyes. The second they left the parking lot, I walked out the door and lost it. I cried and cried for her sweet little soul. I look up to her, she is a strong, beautiful daughter of god, who was brave enough to change things up and move on. I wish the best of luck to her, where ever she is.
The Angry Jerk:
Only once in my carrier have I wanted to choke a client with my cape. This was that client. A red curly headed, Scottish guy walked in with his girlfriend one day, needing a cut before his work party. He was the type who didn't know how he wanted his hair, he just wanted it shorter, no duh. He didn't know clipper sizes so I had him show me with his fingers how much to cut off. Well if you have curly hair, you know its hard to cut, especially going short. So I did a scissor cut all over his head. When I asked him how it looked he didn't seem happy, but didn't tell me how to fix whatever was wrong. As he paid I asked him what was his full name to put in our system, he replied "does it matter? I'll never come here again" So I said I guess not. They left and I felt relieved. Then I noticed them standing outside, touching his hair. I knew they would be back inside wanting something fixed. He walks in and said to me "I've never had such a f*ing horrible haircut, fix it now" I apologized but told him his tone and language was not acceptable. He sat down, and his face was the color of his hair, red. I asked what I could fix and he pointed to the curls in his hair. He thought it looked uneven. The girl friend then took the comb out of my hand and started showing me spots they didn't like. So i took it back, pulled out the hair, showed them an even cut, and told him it's his curly hair. Some pieces have more curl than others so they will flip out unless you go shorter. He told me it was a load of crap and to just go shorter and cut the curl off since I had already ruined his haircut. Idiot. He told me I was an f*ing B, and I shouldn't ever cut hair again. He stood up, ripped my cape off, threw it on the floor and walked out. I wanted to punch him in the face. How rude?! You don't speak to people like that and expect me to help you fix something. I hope I never see his face again, and If I do, I hope I have my clippers so I can shave a bald spot in his ugly head. But I'm not still upset about this or anything...
So you can see, being a stylist is HARD. Some people will love you, some people will hate you. You just do the best you can and tell everyone else to kiss it.
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