The Wedding Sister and my ‘Stylist’

Today I got my hair cut. I look as saucy as can be. But this is not my point. My point in the inanity of hairdressers. Again.

I get my hair cut at a different place from where I get it coloured (Oh Mieka, can you do no wrong?) on recommendation from my little sister.

My sister, who is rad, is getting married in less than two weeks. As I was getting caped and gowned by my lovely ‘stylist’ (you’re not supposed to call them ‘hairdressers’ any more) the woman who cuts my sister’s hair recognised me.

Woman who cuts my sister’s hair: Oh, I recognise you! Your Mavis’s* sister!

Me: Yeah, I am! She recommended this salon to me.

Woman who cuts my sister’s hair: She’s coming in soon to get her hair done for the wedding! How exciting!

Me: Yeah, we’re all pretty excited about it.

MY stylist, who had been listening to this, stops short, mid cape buttoning, and gazes at me in the mirror.

My stylist: Your sister is getting married?

Me: Yes, next Sunday.

My stylist: And she’s okay with you getting your hair cut so close to the wedding?

WTF. Was she serious? I thought she wasn’t, so I laughed. And then I realised she WAS. And then there was a very interesting conversation in which I explained that my sister was actually one of those amazing creatures who DOESN’T CARE if her sister’s hair doesn’t match her squillion dollar wedding shoes and if her best friend’s nails don’t match the flower arrangements she will not have an apoplexy because my sister has the common sense to understand that weddings have NO NEED to be the retarded circus that so many insist on them being.

I find it ASTONISHING how many people can’t wrap their heads around the simplicity of the coming ceremony.

Random person: So… wait… you’re not a bridesmaid? She’s not having bridesmaids? But… but what flower arrangement is she getting? THE FLOWERS ARE NOT GOING TO BE ARRANGED!?

As much as we all love the look of flowers that look like they’ve been bred in a science lab and then hair sprayed together (see above), no. They are not going to be arranged.

I would like to take the time to a) apologise for initially calling my ‘stylist’ inane, because clearly this is an issue that she’s had to deal with many times before. She even told me her sister made her grow out her fringe for her wedding. Clearly her sister is not as amazing as my sister.

and b) thank my sister for being the awesome person she is.

* My sister’s name is not Mavis. That is just what I call her sometimes to piss her off. As she sent me a text message today saying ‘hi penisbreath’, I think I am allowed to Mavis her up today.

Search terms of the day

As previously discussed, I can look up what people have typed into WordPress that has led them to my blog. The current leaders are ‘hit girl wallpaper’ and ‘jessica true blood’, both of which pop up at least once a day.

But yesterday WordPress told me that someone in the universe typed in the following that led them to the Sophie Love:

hairdresser having sex while blow drying

I am now going to type this into Google images and see what happens…

Yeah, okay. That was totally boring. I was hoping for some kinky high jinks but it was just girls with perfect hair wielding Remingtons.

Don’t cheat on your hairdresser. You will look stupid.

When I first started Sophie, I wrote about a wonderful hair salon experience I had at Mieka Hairdressing.

So why I cheated on my hairdresser today is something I’m still asking myself. That’s right. I cheated. I went to another hair salon near where I now live. Don’t.Go.There. Ever. I now look like I have a small stripy cat on my head. The type of cat that gets left behind at the pet shop because it’s so ugly and not as cute as the other little cats and then before you know it the little cat is an actual cat and it gets sent off to the cat farm where they kill it, skin it, and then send the fur to hairdressers to use as a colour swatch to show unsuspecting people who are paying a retarded amount of money to get their hair dyed.

That last sentence got a little bit too creative, because I wasn’t shown a colour swatch of stripy cat like hair, I was shown a picture of a blonde bombshell and then I was told I would look Exactly Like The Blonde Bombshell In The Picture and I was all happy and smiley and then somehow when they were mixing the colours out the back, that’s when they obviously got confused and mixed the stripy cat colour.

Then they put it on my head.

So, naturally, as they were drying my hair and it was dawning on me that my hair did not, in fact, look blonde or bombshelly, I was a bit um… huh. It looks a bit… um.

And they’re all oooohing and aaaahing and calling me ‘babe’ (for anyone who read the other post on hairdressers, you know I hate this) and saying stupid crap like ‘you look so fierce!’ Well of course I do. I look like I should have claws. And possibly fangs. And like I should be swapped with a zoo in Japan to mate with their male stripy animal and then have a baby animal that will be put in a special exhibit and the public will get to name the baby animal and they’ll choose a stupid name that people like because it sounds kinda African and they can pretend the zoo is actually a scene from The Lion King.

So I go home. And I look at my head in the mirror. And I’m like, yes, this is all stupid. So I do the grown up thing and call and say yeeeeah, hiiiiiiii, looooook… I got home, and I’ve had another look at my hair and I’m not entirely happy with it-

‘What’s wrong with it.’ (I omitted the question mark there on purpose. It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.)

‘Well, I think it’s a little too dark. And I’m afraid the ends are a little… blocky.’

‘You mean stripy.’

‘Well. Yes.’

‘Look. I just talked to Bonnie, (who the frack is Bonnie??) and she agrees that I am always really careful with my foils and I never do a stripy colour.’

Well that’s just great. Bonnie doesn’t have a cat on her head, does she? Well, she might have for all I know. I still have no idea who Bonnie is. And then stupid hairdresser girl tells me that she can’t do anything about it because if she puts any more colour in my hair it will damage it too much. So apparently I’m supposed to either have damaged hair, or a zoo animal on my head. Well isn’t that just keen. She offers to have a look at it ‘next week sometime’ if I’m still unhappy but she is very doubtful she can do anything with it. But she could try ‘if I want’.

No. I do not want. I don’t want you anywhere near my head again you masochistic cow.

So I’ve called the lovely Sarah at Mieka who has booked me in on Tuesday to fix me. I should never have cheated in the first place. I will go in wailing with apologies and love and maybe she’ll give me a free treatment or something. Doubtful, because this is my fault and I cheated on her, not the other way round. But I know she will fix me.

I still have to live through three days of having stupid hair though.

Another Collingwood Plug of the Day, but totally worth it

I looooooath going to the hairdressers cos it’s totally boring and no matter how firmly you read your trashy magazine you’re always dragged into an inane conversation with a perky girl all in black who is trying desperately to make sure you unload all your problems onto her when you can tell all she really wants to do is get on with doing your hair.

And then they always make you feel shitty about what you want to do with your hair and they try and convince you to do something else and call you babe a LOT and talk a lot about how damaged your hair is and THANK GOD that they have this $75 ‘serum’ that will fix it up in no time. And then when you say you can’t afford a $75 serum but thanks anyway, they sigh heavily and say something like ‘well, it’s up to you babe but you really want to start investing in something to sort out those damaged ends’.

FUCKING KILL ME.

This was my view on hairdressers. Until a week ago and I swear to god I found the promised land.

A number of posts ago I mentioned my wish for red hair. This is in the days leading up to Christmas and parties and get togethers and when everyone is totally busy and you can’t get an appointment anywhere. Well I’m wishing for red hair and I’m walking home from Gertrude St down Smith, (had just had a HORRENDOUS experience at Rose Chong Costumes – it turns out their customer service is somewhere in between Don’t Give A Shit and Fuck Off I’m Busy) and I’m walking along and I walk past Mieka Hairdressing.

So, on a whim, I walk in.

Me: Um, yeah, hi. Look I know you’re probably really busy and all but I really want to colour my hair and um I was wondering if you had a waiting list I could go on if someone cancels between now and New Year?

Nice Blonde Lady At Desk: Yeah sure! Or we could just do it now.

SCORE.

Me: Oh YAY! Really!? Cos I want to go from blonde to red…

and all of a sudden I’m surrounded by gorgeous girls with blunt cuts and exciting highlights who are telling me I’m going to look FABULOUS.

I would also like to add that at this point David Bowie was indeed singing the Labyrinth soundtrack over the speakers.

So I sit. I get given a hot chocolate, a trashy magazine, I show my photo, she says she can do it exactly, AND THEN SHE LEAVES ME ALONE!

I get to sit and read my wonderful bible of trashiness without being disturbed. When I venture a question, my colourist is all chatty and lovely but when I clearly want to read how to pilate my way to better orgasms, she is blessedly silent as she works away at my hair. It’s awesome.

BUT WAIT IT GETS BETTER!

I am a smoker. Or, I am a smoker that sometimes quits and then smokes again. My Hair Day also happens to be a Smoking Day and OH EM GEE DOUBLE YOU TEE EFF THEY HAVE A SMOKER’S COURTYARD. That’s right. Usually you’re dumped out on the street looking like a B-grade famous person who is about to be splashed over NW’s next issue of ‘Stars Without Makeup’ dragging on a fag while your head is wrapped in tin foil. But no, I get to sit in a pretty courtyard with dappled sunshine and my magazine.

BUT WAIT IT GETS EVEN BETTER!!

A. Free. Fucking. Blow Dry.

I am not joking. I remember the first time I got screwed over by the old blow dry trick. ‘Would you like a blow dry with that?’ And I’m like, well, yeah, don’t you usually dry my hair? Oh no my friends, that’s a DRY OFF. A BLOW DRY involves a multitude of different shaped brushes and an extra fifty bucks. Well Mieka not only blow dried my hair, but also curled it. I had salon curls! For free! For FREE!

AND THEN! I got sent on my way with lots of compliments and smiles and a showbag. That’s right I said it. A showbag. And the best damn colour I’ve ever had that happened to match the picture I took in exactly.

WOW.

So if you’re in the area and looking for an awesome colour and absolutley the best service, check out:

308 Smith St, Collingwood, 3066, Victoria, Australia

Phone: 9416 5026

Email: info@miekahairdressing.com.au

http://www.miekahairdressing.com.au/

I am about to move to St Kilda but I aint ever letting this one go.