« I’d love it if you would shave my head, » I announced to the young stylist in the LA hair salon. She laughed out loud. Then she realized I was serious and lost a shade of colour.
Smilingly I reassured her : « I promise you I’m of sound mind and I’m sure of my decision. »
She did not look convinced.
I could hardly blame her. At that point, my hair was long to below my shoulders. I could see anxious thoughts flitting through her mind, as she imagined me wailing loudly, tear-stained and remorseful, my long locks strewn on the floor around her styling chair, and writing a terrible review on Yelp. She appeared to need some support, so I took her hand and chirped, « It’ll be fun! »
First she gave me a really cute boy cut, clearly hoping to sell me on moderation. I complemented her work, and then asked her to shave it off. She did a short lap around...