At least the outfit was cute

After two years I was forced to end the relationship. He was starting to take me for granted. I could tell the minute he stopped listening to what I said I wanted. He thought he knew me so well, but when I told him I wanted baby bangs and he refused to give them to me, I knew I had to find a new hairdresser.

Only when it seemed that every single hair on my head had a split end, did I make an appointment at a new salon. I didn’t get recommendations from friends, I didn’t do any research, nope, I fell for an ad campaign that promised rock and roll hair. In my vulnerable and desperate state I felt sure this was a place that would give me the bangs I had always wanted.

The day of the appointment arrived and I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I opened the doors to a stylish loft. The ceilings were high and industrial with exposed pipes, the walls were brick and floor to ceiling windows provided soft, natural lighting. My heart was really won when the receptionist appeared carrying a glass of red wine for me. I smiled and relaxed into my chair, positive I had found a new salon that would take care of me and always make me feel beautiful.

And then the stylist arrived wearing camouflage pants, a black tank top and a black bandana. His voice was gruff, and he was so high-strung and enthusiastic I thought he must be on cocaine. I scanned the salon to see if anyone else seemed concerned with his erratic behavior. That's when I noticed that I was the only one left in the salon! Turns out making an appointment for eight o'clock is a really bad idea. It was getting dark, no one was there and my cracked-out stylist was refilling my wine.

He began snipping away. Long strands of hair were falling on the floor and before I knew it, I had the baby bangs I had always wanted and...a mullet. But it wasn't a hipster's ironic mullet, but a lesbian soccer mom mullet. I stared at my reflection absolutely horrified and wanted more than anything to run into my ex-stylist's conservative arms. He would never take me back looking like this! And with baby bangs!

I was obviously the only one feeling regret, shame, anger, depression and the need for a hat. The mullet-maker was jumping around my chair exclaiming how amazing my new “shag” was and how incredible I looked and how, (and this is when I knew for sure that he was on drugs), he wanted to take pictures of me for his new ad campaign. In a stunned and wine-induced stupor, I just nodded my head that yes I would be in the photo shoot. Yes, I would give him my cell phone. Yes, I would like a ride home.

It was only after I was sitting shotgun in his enormous SUV with shiny rims and hip hop blaring that I finally came to my senses. What in the world was I doing in the car of a stranger so strange that he had just decimated my poor hair and was proud of himself?! In the middle of the road, no where near my apartment, I told him to pull over, that I lived nearby. The car had not even come to a complete stop before my feet hit the pavement walking fast away from my now newest ex-stylist. Needless to say, I did not show up for the photo shoot, but I sure did change my cell phone number.

Luckily the outfit I was wearing could make any haircut disaster feel cute. My Paper Denim and Cloth jeans were paired with this halter top from Brooklyn Industries. The mullet did do one thing right and helped to show off my earrings made by a jeweler in Park Slope. She sometimes sets her table up outside the Park Slop Food Coop. You can't miss her. She is a beautiful black women with a gorgeous head of long dreads that she piles on top of her head.