Magazine shooting today. I made the grave error of permitting the hairstylist to "trim the back" of my hair, with the stern warning, "You can't change the length because I have a job confirmed for tomorrow" (when booking a model, clients take it on good faith that she'll show up for the job looking like the same girl they saw at the casting). The hairstylist agreed, and went to work with his scissors while the makeup artist went to work with her (infuriatingly tiny) foundation brush. Thus swarmed around, I totally zoned out with my headphones on for-- well, checking the iTunes record, approximately eight minutes (nerd!).
When I cracked an eye, I found my hair completely transformed: hacked into a weird New Wave bob- all angular in the back and horizontally chopped in the front. My face immediately lit up in a beacon of what-the-fuck, and the hairstylist noticed and chortled. "Ha ha, you hate me now?!" he sang gleefully, openly acknowledging that he'd flouted my "nothing drastic" caveat.
Know ye that the combination of blunt haircut and curly hair is an abomination unto the Lord. And guess how long it took to straighten my curly hair like that? AN HOUR. No exaggeration. But does look cool in the pictures, so I'm sure the hairstylist is congratulating himself.
Toward the end of the shoot, I saw a notebook belonging to the style editor lying open on a table. Amid a page of densely scrawled mumbo ("fresh-faced makeup" "peach-tinted blush" "cool look!!"), I saw this, underlined: "STRONG haircuts!" And a picture, ripped out of some fashion mag, of a hapless blonde model sporting the exact same haircut I'm now stuck with. It was premeditated!
Here I am, besieged on all sides! The hairstylist on the right, a teeth-baring madman! The makeup artist on the left, brandishing a sinister garment- possibly the least flattering dress ever! In front of me, a quivering waif with a terrible haircut, lips dripping with a noxious mauve petroleum byproduct! No wait! That's a mirror!
So, did a hairstylist, a style editor, and a makeup artist (for without her painting foundation onto my eyelids, I never would have closed my eyes during the trimmening!) really conspire to trick me into getting an unattractive, completely impractical "fashion" haircut for the purpose of a short magazine spread about hairstyles that won't have any credibility anyway due to the presence of this hairstyle (just one of the myriad styling possibilities offered by the Wholly Impractical New Wave Bob cut):
You'd be suppressing a sneer too.
(And by the way, (men,) regarding the seemingly unreasonable "You can cut my hair, but you can't change the length": it's possible to trim hair in the back, remove damaged bits, or cut short layers without significantly altering the overall appearance of length.)
And oh look, it's 3:00am and I'm still awake, alternately writing a Livejournal about my hair and staring balefully at my hair in the mirror. O modeling! O pathological vanity! My Hair!