Why I Can't Say No to My Hairdresser

Before a few months ago, I kept my regular hair maintenance to a minimum. I would get my hair cut, on average, once every six months - only trekking to the salon when my ends got so bad that they would crinkle if you squeezed them. Of all of the things I felt I should spend my money on, regular haircuts, dye jobs, highlights, and treatments weren't any of them.

But in June I decided I wanted a big change. I'd had the same straight, dirty blond, long hair for a while now, and I was just bored with it. I had toyed with the idea of going brunette for a while but had been met with only lukewarm reactions when I brought it up to anyone. My mom thought, if anything, I should go blonder, as did every stylist I ever went to. "Have you ever considered highlights?" they would ask as they ran their fingers through my hair in an attempt to, I suppose, demonstrate just how lackluster my natural color was.

"Yes. I've had them. I don't like them."

"Really? Not even a few?"

"No. I just want to stick with my natural color." What is wrong with being proud of what god gave you?

But over the summer, I decided it was time. I made an appointment at the hair salon two blocks away from my apartment where every single person who worked there was Polish - born and bred and cosmetology-school trained. The woman who did my hair was a middle-aged woman named Anya. I told her what I wanted done ("I want to dye my hair brown") and she looked at me quizzically for a moment. I was so worried she didn't understand, that I was going to walk out of the salon with a blue mohawk. But she said, "Okay, but not too dark. Light. Light is better."

Yes, of course. Whatever you say. You're the professional.

Anya did a fantastic job, and all of the other women in the salon were oohing and aahing at my new look. Anya charged me $103 for everything, which I thought was pretty good, but I didn't understand where that extra $3 came from.

I went out into the world as a brunette, and was met with very positive response. The first person to see me with my new look was my then-boyfriend's friend who lives in New York and who I decided to meet up with that afternoon. We walked around Central Park in the sweltering heat, ate popsicles (or, at least I did) and then went to play pool in SoHo (I whalloped him, by the way). I looked fabulous, I had to admit.

A few months passed and then the roots started to show. I remembered why I had always tried to avoid doing unnatural things to my hair - because eventually the natural comes back and taunts you about it. I decided that I wanted to go a bit lighter. I didn't want to have to get my roots done once a month. Way too much work.

I went back to the Touch of Beauty salon on Fresh Pond Road, but this time I was assigned a different girl - Jeanetta. Jeanetta, I would learn was 24, born and raised in Poland where she attended beauty school at the age of 15. I can't remember how long she said she's been in the States, but I think no more than 5 years. Jeanetta loves what she does. She takes immense pride in her work, and, I would also discover, she also takes it quite personally.

"I need to get my roots done," I told her. She looked at me, unsmiling. I thought maybe she thought I was an idiot, but I couldn't figure out why. She combed and parted my hair and then went to the back of the store where she emerged with a giant book full of hair color samples. She opened it and pointed to one that was much lighter than the brunette I had picked out two months ago.

"I like this one for you. It is lighter, but lighter is better."

"Uh. Okay." I said. How could I say no? She was so sure, and she seemed to have my best interests at heart. Plus, you can't really refuse an Eastern European woman who is telling you something and showing absolutely no hint of humor. Try it sometime. I dare you.

"Your hair is too dark. If you keep it this color you will have to do your roots all the time. It is bad for your hair. And it is stupid."

Yes, she called me stupid.

She played with my hair a bit more. "Did you have any other color in your hair besides the brown?"

"No. I haven't done anything with it since I dyed it here the last time. And it was natural before."

She frowned. She didn't believe me.

"Your hair is two different colors. Look. Here it is almost green."

Shit. I had green hair. I knew it!

"I didn't do anything to it. I don't know why it's like that."

"You're sure?"

"Yes!" No, I'm lying. Though, I'll admit, if I had done something to my hair, I definitely wouldn't have told her about it for fear of the wrath that would follow.

"We will go lighter. Lighter is better. It makes more sense."

How can I argue with sense?

"Okay, sure."

She dyed my hair a lighter shade of brown and gave it a little trim. It looked good. I'll admit. It looked really good. That weekend was my birthday. I looked damn cute on my birthday.

I went back a couple of months later. I had just gone through a breakup and was looking for an excuse to treat myself and make myself look pretty. Plus, my roots were showing again and my ends were crackling.

When I had gone to Jeanetta in August, she had suggested that the next time I came in, she would try a lighter color at the roots - a reddish blond that I liked. Jeanetta came up behind me to comb my hair. "I think we should go a little lighter, and then maybe next time you should get highlights. And then you should go lighter the next time, and lighter, and lighter."

"Ok." I had decided I wanted to go back to my natural color eventually. I'd had a dream a few weeks prior that had convinced me I should. But, I figured I'd just highlight my hair for a while and then let it grow out. It would be less obvious that way. Plus, I was beginning to like the treat of going to the salon every two months.

She dyed the roots, rinsed out the color, and examined her look. "Do you want some highlights today? I think maybe you get some highlights today."

Can she do that? Guess so. Fine. Whatever.

She put a few highlights in my hair, rinsed it out and asked me how I wanted my hair cut.

"I just want a little bit off. Just to clean up the ends."

"Okay, but not too much. Just a little bit. Long hair is better."

There is one thing I can say for Jeanetta: she practices what she preaches. She has long, straight hair that reaches about midway down her torso. Plus, she's obviously a natural brunette who keeps light blond highlights on the top layer of her hair.

I like long hair too, so I was okay with her just taking half an inch off all the way around, but something bothered me. What if I had wanted to take six inches off? Would she have done it or hung up her scissors and simply refused on principle? Hard to tell. I'm sure, at the very least, a fight would be involved.

She did yet another good job, and it cost me $45 without tip. You can't really beat that with a stick, especially in New York.

A few days ago, I decided it was, yet again, that time. My ends were ridiculous now. A few months of Jeanetta's conservative trimming had failed to remedy the damage I had halfway up my head. Plus, my hair is thin and it gets stringy if left to grow too long. I was going to ask Jeanetta to take a few inches - maybe three off my hair. I was terrified. But she couldn't refuse...could she?

I had my appointment at 9:30 this morning. Jeanetta saw me and smiled. "Hi, how are you?" she laughed a bit. I think it was the most joy I'd ever seen her express in my presence. Aww, Jeanetta. She has a piece of my heart.

I sat down in her chair. "I want to get my roots done - highlights, and then I want a cut, but I want to take a few inches off this time. Not too too much. Just to here." I indicated a place about an inch under my shoulder. I could tell Jeanetta was displeased.

"That short?"

"Yeah. I just need a change."

"What if we took off a little in the back and then did shorter in the front?"

I CANNOT SAY NO TO THIS WOMAN!

"Okay."

"It will be different." Now she looked excited, as though the thought of being able to shear that much hair off of my head gave her a promise of supreme satisfaction. Good, I'm glad she was happy.

She did the roots - nothing really new there. Though she told me I should only do the top layer because I didn't want to damage my hair. Sounds like a reasonable statement. Okay. Just the top layer.

"What do your friends think of your color?"

"They love it. They think it's my natural color."

It was true. They did.

"Good. That's good."

Jeanetta finished the color (it looked great as always) and began the cutting. "Are you ready?" She was so jazzed. I think she was worried I'd change my mind. She sheared off several inches in the front and, in the process actually stabbed her finger. I felt bad. I guess she got overzealous.

And, in the end, it looked great, as always. I'm glad I didn't say no to Jeanetta, though I didn't really want to anyway.

"Wow! It looks fabulous. Thank you!"

"You're welcome." She smiled. She was pleased. "See you in three months."

"Yup."

I didn't tell her that I would be moving in February and probably wouldn't be back in three months.

I still can't say no to this woman.