Quote:
Originally posted by notcasesensitive
Sebby probably is more comfortable with the occasional boob-brush than he would be with the periodic schlong-swipe.
I recently replaced my obese colorist with a straight guy hairdresser (I had never before encountered one of these before and meeting him was like seeing a white bengal tiger in person (hi, Roy!)). Anyway, the heavy woman (I'm guessing 300 pounds or so) was a good colorist, but it was a bit odd being constantly rubbed by her body. Unavoidable for her, I guess. And for all you fattists, I didn't leave her because of her girth - though I'm guessing it keeps her from being fully booked up despite her skillz. I left her because she couldn't do my color the way I liked it (I wanted not natural-looking and all she can do is soccor mom blended hi-lights, it seems) AND when the cut guy was out sick she give me possibly the worst cut I ever received in my entire life. One side was about an inch longer than the other. I had to go to someone else to have it fixed (after a brief attempt to fix it myself) because it was unbearable.
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I've been going to my (straight) cut guy for about 18 years now. I'm at the level of trust with him now where I just show up every three months or so and let him have his way with me without any direction whatsoever. It always ends up looking good now that I'm entirely out of the artistic direction department.
The last bad haircut I had was in 1996ish when I thought that somehow my wavy hair could pull of a Rachel-esque layers look. I ended up with the exact same haircut that Julia Roberts had in
Something to Talk About. Photographs from that era have since been destroyed, and I've stepped back from offering input on what will look good.
I also surrendered in the ten year fight that Jerry and I had regarding how long my hair should be.
