Elisabeth does not like anyone messing with her hair. Which is why it always looks terrible. Every time I go near her with a hairbrush or bow, she screams and runs away. And frankly, I don’t need to deal with that kind of attitude. I’m sure I’ve got years and years ahead of me during which Elisabeth and I will disagree about her hairstyles, so why start now?
That being said, her hair was starting to get straggly. Like, greasy straggly. Like I don’t bathe her. But I DO bathe her! I swear! Lest people think I neglect my daughter’s personal hygiene, I decided the time had come to get her hair cut.
I dreaded it. My ears hurt thinking of the shrieks that would surely fill the salon as I forced Elisabeth into a salon chair. The cries of, “Nonononono!” as the stylist tortured her with hair clippers. But it was time…
This was around six weeks ago, shortly after I arrived to California. I had thought about taking Elisabeth to the children’s salon where, as a child, I had gotten my hair cut. But I Yelped that salon and dang were those reviews bad. I know you’re probably thinking, “She’s a toddler. How badly can they screw up her hair?”
To answer that, I ask that you direct your attention to the picture below:
No, this is not a little boy. Really! And also, can we talk about this outfit? What the heck am I wearing?
This is me as at toddler. To be fair, I was older than Elisabeth is now, and had much more hair. Also, this was before I ever went to the specialty kids’ salon out here in California. But I show this to you as an example of When Bad Hair Happens to Good Toddlers. My mother let someone hack my hair into a veritable bowl cut, and I spent the better part of toddlerhood wandering around looking like a boy dressed in his sister’s pink clothes. (Except in this picture, when I just look like a boy. What IS this outfit!?)
Anyway, there was no way I was going to subject Elisabeth to a similarly embarrassing fate. I found a salon that had fantastic reviews and booked an appointment.
The place had rocket-ships for chairs! And TVs were placed directly in front of the rocket-ship chairs to distract the children from the hair-cutting cruelty! It was genius! I gingerly placed Elisabeth into her rocket-ship, waiting for the screams that would never come. She was tentative about this unusual situation, and wore a serious expression throughout the experience, but she did not cry. She gripped her hands tightly on her rocket-ship, as if bracing herself against the snips of the scissors, but she did not cry. The lure of the TV proved to overcome any negative hair-related feelings she harbored, and we both emerged from the incident unscathed. It was a minor miracle.
Until I went to pay.
Holding on for dear life, all the while keeping her eyes glued to the television.
She didn’t even want to leave when it was over!
Twenty-five dollars. Twenty-five freakin’ dollars for a 10-minute TRIM. Now, you all know I don’t mind spending money on hair. (After all, it is expensive to accidentally dye your hair black.) But in what kind of world is it okay to charge $25 for an 19-month old’s first haircut!?* And that’s not even including tip!
Fast-forward to today. Elisabeth’s hair had grown out, as hair tends to do, and was looking straggly and greasy again. Time for another haircut. And guess what? I went back.
Yup, I went back to the ridiculously priced, rocket-ship themed kids salon. Because she didn’t cry. If rocket-ship chairs and personal TVs keep my kid from hyperventilating, and if it for some reasons those rocket-ship chairs and personal TVs justify a $25 price tag, then so be it. (For now, during the tantrum-y toddler years. Not forever.)
Now, just for fun, a picture of my first haircut. Rocket-ships were not involved. Would anyone like to share their (or their child’s) haircut horror stories?
The beginning of the bowl?
*Answer: Newport Beach.
UPDATE: My mom blames the haircut and horrible outfit on it being the 80s. I don’t know if I buy it.
UPDATE: I just noticed the logo on on my first haircut cape: Cutter Clown? CUTTER CLOWN?! That is truly terrifying.
Diana, Loved this post. My sister and I also had the dreaded bowl cuts, as did Anne Wallem when she was three and was a flower girl at our wedding. I showed her the pictures from the wedding last summer when she was living with us and she was completely horrified!
Sorry, no horror stories. My girls were fine in the chair. But, the 1st had no hair until she was almost 2, so she wasn’t in need of a hair cut until she was likely 3. To be honest, I don’t even recall the 2nd kid’s cut. Does that make me a bad mom? I do remember my 2nd DD’s reaction to my brown hair dye experiment. I grew up as a blonde and started keeping my blonde with a bottle in later years. I was tired of the bottle treatment, so I though, just dye it close to my natural and let it grow out that way. Nope. The poor child screamed and cried and demanded her “old mom” back! It was back to the bottle.
Diana, if you think the ’80’s and a bowl cut were scary, imagine having insanely curly hair in the ’70’s. Hair so thick it wouldn’t dry. Then imagine a system invented by one’s mother that involved toilet paper and a hair net. However gruesomely your imagination runs wild, it can’t be worse than the reality was.