Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer
I just passed a hairdressing salon called The Last Strand. Unfortunately I myself feel that one day I will be facing my own last strand. Male pattern baldness may be very amusing to most of us but I am here to tell you that it has a terrible sibling; female pattern baldness.
Doctors told me that it was stress related and would return soon. I knew that they were wrong but nodded along anyway, hoping that in 10 years time I would not start to resemble a 5’2” version of Dr Phil.
Hairdressers invariably seem to think women’s hair thinning is only self-inflicted. After the initial “consultation” I sense that I am deemed a “problem client”, as they seem to sense that I am willfully going bald – just to keep them on their toes.
“Stop teasing it,” says one, after carefully brushing out matted knots which I swear formed entirely of their own and without my assistance or encouragement.
“I don’t,” I tell her anxiously, and as she turns back to my head she realises that a half head of dreadlocks have formed without me moving a muscle.
“It’s the poor quality product you use,” volunteered her colleague so that the whole salon could see me for the cheap hair hater, even though she personally sold me the expensive detergent herself the last time I was there. “You’re going to need a treatment which won’t be cheap, but you need it to repair all the damage you have done to it”. Thank you.
What 30-year-old women wouldn’t actively render themselves bald? Once I clapped eyes on a man with a shiny pink old bald head and a ring of hairs around the sides and realised how flattering it was, I just knew that it would look even more stunning on me.
“You aren’t massaging your scalp enough,” barked another as she enthusiastically rakes her fingernails across my head as Edward Scissorhands flashed through my mind.
Doctors told me that it was stress related and would return soon. I knew that they were wrong but nodded along anyway, hoping that in 10 years time I would not start to resemble a 5’2” version of Dr Phil.
Hairdressers invariably seem to think women’s hair thinning is only self-inflicted. After the initial “consultation” I sense that I am deemed a “problem client”, as they seem to sense that I am willfully going bald – just to keep them on their toes.
“Stop teasing it,” says one, after carefully brushing out matted knots which I swear formed entirely of their own and without my assistance or encouragement.
“I don’t,” I tell her anxiously, and as she turns back to my head she realises that a half head of dreadlocks have formed without me moving a muscle.
“It’s the poor quality product you use,” volunteered her colleague so that the whole salon could see me for the cheap hair hater, even though she personally sold me the expensive detergent herself the last time I was there. “You’re going to need a treatment which won’t be cheap, but you need it to repair all the damage you have done to it”. Thank you.
What 30-year-old women wouldn’t actively render themselves bald? Once I clapped eyes on a man with a shiny pink old bald head and a ring of hairs around the sides and realised how flattering it was, I just knew that it would look even more stunning on me.
“You aren’t massaging your scalp enough,” barked another as she enthusiastically rakes her fingernails across my head as Edward Scissorhands flashed through my mind.
The last strand indeed. I’m getting a weave.