I never really understood everyone’s obsession with their hair. From my older sister’s precise washing schedule to my mother’s twice-monthly dye job touch-ups to my dad’s preoccupation with his beard, there’s been a lot for me to come to terms with. I’ve always done my darndest to avoid getting caught up in the whole thing, but there’s always someone chewing my ear off about my needing a haircut, or to invest in some shampoo or give a comb a try.
At long last, I’m going to put my foot down. I’m going to do it by taking every bit of advice anyone has to offer me about my hair. Why, you ask? Well, if all goes to plan, it will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that on-trend cut and colour jobs do not maketh the man. I realise this sounds a tad misguided, but I know what I’m on about. In my time, I’ve tried half the hairdressers Melbourne has to offer, and that’s saying something.
My sister is always on at me to try out this one particular hair salon. St James Place, I think, is where it’s located, although I can’t remember the name off the top of my head. Anyway, once I find it, I’m going to book myself the makeover to end all makeovers. Heads will turn, trust me… but perhaps not for the reasons that Cassie has in mind.
See, here’s the thing. Haircuts don’t suit me. As soon as I get it done, it’s going to be painfully apparent to all concerned that I’m better off in caveman mode. Then I’ll be free to live my life the way I want. I’m not taking any chances, though. To really nail it in, I’m going to go all out, with a full head of foils. That’ll keep mum happy – at least until she sees the outcome in full effect atop my noggin.