On body image

So today I went to the hairdressers. I have to admit, although I love it while I’m there, I’m not a huge fan. I go, maybe twice a year. But every time I go, I remind myself that it's not so bad and that I really should make an effort to go more often.

(This isn't actually me at the hairdresser. My smile isn't that big - meaning I'm never that happy to be there - and as much as I go in with high hopes, my hair never comes out looking this good. My hairdresser is fabulous and all, but she's still human. I borrowed this photo from http://chelleybeanhair.com/ which looks like a nice hairdressing place in Brisbane, but they probably wouldn't drive all the way to the Fraser Coast just to do my hair.)

Let's face it. Going to the hairdressers can be:

* a little socially awkward as you have to chat to the hairdresser

* time-consuming - who has three hours to spend sitting in a chair watching a beautiful person fuss around behind you trying to make you as beautiful as you think she can make you?

* depressing - as fabulous as they may be at hairdressing, they suck at making tea/coffee

* and, like going to the dentist, at the end you never really know what you’re going to have to pay. 

Don’t get me wrong; I loved my hairdresser this year, and I kinda hope I remember her name to ask for her at my next appointment in a year's time. Her name is Candy (which I don’t think is her real name. The other hairdressers in the salon also have unusual names, like Bams, which makes me think they all have nicknames so the customers can remember them easier. Does anyone know if this is true?). Her ash-blond hair stopped just above her shoulders, except for the top of her head, where her hair was positioned like a whale spout, and it cascaded down over the rest of her head. It looked awesome. If I tried to wear my hearing like that, I’d look like a middle-aged-four-year -old and they’d tell me to go home and sleep it off. 

She also wore a tight short black skirt that hugged her (dare I say) large thighs. Candy had beautiful curves. A single black feather clung to the underside of her right arm and another tiny tattoo hid on her shoulder blade, only popping out every now and then for viewing. She didn’t over-wear her make up like some hairdressers do, either; you know, like they have to put a whole new face on top of the one they already have. And I wondered what it was about some people that they could wear these sorts of things, with confidence, when they weren’t a Size 8 and were only 22. 

The more experienced hairdresser in the salon also wore a frighteningly short black dress and had a colourful sleeve on her upper left arm. A few more years and I wondered if she’d start covering it up, as wrinkles were beginning to make the floral arrangement wilt. Somehow, her confidence was less interesting to me. Women of her age worry less and less what others around them think of their fashion and lifestyle choices. But for one so young - Candy - to bear such confidence, I was impressed. And perhaps a little jealous that I didn’t enjoy such luxury of spirit when I’d been her age. 

My conclusions from today’s pondering at the hairdressers? It’s not so much about how you look, as it is about how you feel about it. Candy was gorgeous. She looked it, because she felt it. So much of what you think about yourself comes out in the way you present yourself to the world. The more you’re happier in who you are, the more the world will see a beautiful and confident you - and love you for it. 

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