I'd been threatening to do something like this for months, and finally got around to it.

Admittedly, this photo is slightly inaccurate, since I had a trim shortly thereafter:

Amy, photo by Suzan
at Midtown, Atlanta, Georgia, United States by domesticat.

I was ready for a change, and when a co-worker with very curly hair showed up with a great cut, I asked her for her stylist's name: Bobbie. I scheduled an appointment before I could change my mind, and even as I walked in the door of the salon, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do.

She was skater-punk and tattooed, and had a simple, tousled, comfortable-looking haircut. We talked about what had gone right -- but mostly wrong -- in prior haircuts. I showed her my driver's license photo to give her an idea of how much my hair curled when handled well. I mentioned that I was looking for a change, but had a family wedding in a month and a half, and needed to make sure that I was salvageable by then.

She shampooed my hair, which was strange, because I don't think anyone but me has scrubbed my hair since I was a child. It was disconcerting and oddly private; I think I would have gotten used to it if it had lasted longer, but I was still reacting to the oddness when it was done and over with.

"It sounds like you've had layers done badly," she said. "With hair this thick, you have to be a bit bolder. Not just take a little off the top section, because then it just poufs up and looks awful." She showed me how the hair could be tousled and, with the slightest nudge of encouragement, would part on the right-hand side. "Your bangs were mostly grown out anyway. We can blend these in with razor cuts and it'll look good as it is, but come back in six weeks and we'll re-blend them with the rest of your hair into the finished cut."

She started cutting, and cutting, and cutting, and I kid you not there was hair going everywhere, like a crazy cartoon and a skaterpunk with scissors. We talked about dragon*con and Seattle and travel and how life is much easier if you accept what your hair just is. By the time it was over with, my hair looked settled, tously, comfortable, without that bell shape that came from having such heavy, wavy hair -- and there was a lot of hair on the floor.

"Here's your style," she said. "Wash your hair. Towel off the excess water. A small amount of gel to set the curl, part it with your fingers so that it falls right, and you're done."

Transitional haircut
by domesticat.

The strangest part is the back. I knew that my hair grew in so thickly that it stuck out instead of lying down; with aggressive layering it actually behaves. It feels disturbingly light, and I was surprised at how little shampoo it took to clean it properly this morning.

It's not done yet, but it's a comfortable and low-maintenance style. It'll be just about ready for prime time by the week I fly to Seattle, and should be fully settled in before Mom's wedding in early August.

I'm still not sure I'm girly enough to go to a salon, but I survived -- and I'll return in mid-July to bring the cut to its finished state.