Enzo
I was browsing through a bustling mall when I noticed a hair salon. Usually, I get my classic chin-length bob and bangs trimmed every four weeks, but life has been hectic, and I’ve lost track of my routine. The salon’s welcoming walk-in policy was a tempting sign to step inside.
As a mall-based salon, it had several chairs. I added my name to the queue and was informed of a 20-minute wait. While I waited, I observed the salon’s lively atmosphere. Most women were there for trims, but one woman caught my attention. She had a significant amount of hair on the floor around her.
She was undergoing a pixie haircut transformation. I watched in awe as the stylist expertly used a scissor-over-comb technique to taper her hair at the back, creating a sleek silhouette. Her sides were also tapered to a slightly longer crown, giving her a chic and modern look.
The final cut was adorable, and I saw her beaming with joy as she admired her reflection in the mirror. She ran her hand through her hair, and it effortlessly fell back into place, showcasing the stylist’s skill.
I started considering getting a pixie cut myself. With my busy schedule, a low-maintenance style seemed like the perfect solution. However, I’ve been a bob devotee for most of my life. It’s the hairstyle that defines me. I’ve tried shorter hair before and never felt quite right with it. But this time, it felt more like a necessity than a whim.
As the stylist called my name, I was still torn. I settled into the chair and while she was capping me, she asked about my desired style. With a hint of sheepishness, I confessed, “I think I want a pixie.” The stylist examined my hair and noted, “You have thick hair, I’ll have to take off a lot.” I acknowledged her point and said that a simpler cut would be better for me.
While the stylist was washing my hair, I couldn’t help but second-guess my decision. Would it look good? What would my husband think? Was this the end of the bob era for me?
After washing, she towel-dried my hair and combed it straight. She picked up her comb and scissors and looked at me with a questioning expression. “Are you sure about this?” she asked. Her tone sent a flutter of excitement and nervousness through me. Finally, I took a deep breath and declared, “No.”
The stylist chuckled softly, saying, “I had a feeling. You have a lot of hair. I guess just a trim?” Dejected, I confessed that I considered something simpler, but overall, a bob suits me best.
The stylist thought for a moment, then said, “Maybe a pixie cut isn’t right for you. Maybe a shorter bob might be better.”
I’d thought about what she said and it didn’t seem like a bad idea. I’d worn my bob chin-length for years and hadn’t considered just cutting it shorter. I told her, “You’re right, make it shorter.”
The stylist proceeded to section my hair with the intent to cut it shorter. She placed her comb at my jawline and asked if that’s the length I usually wear my hair. I told her it was, then she placed her comb to the bottom of my earlobe and asked what I thought.
I looked at the roughly 4 inches of hair that hung beneath the comb and started getting that nervous feeling again. But rather than saying No, I blurted out, “Go for it.”
The stylist picked up her scissors and placed them under the comb. With a quick motion, she sliced through my hair from one end of the comb to the other, passing just under my ear.
I saw the contrast in length in the mirror. One side was cut to my comfortable chin length, while the side just barely covered my ear.
I said to her, “Wow, that’s short.” Letting the next layer down, she replied, “You don’t like it?” Realizing I just made things uncomfortable, I replied, “Oh no, it’s fine. I’m just not used to it yet.”
Armed with my approval, she got back to work. She sectioned the back of my hair and began cutting. I felt the scissors cut across my neck higher than I ever felt.
As she continued to let down sections on the sides, the cut was beginning to take shape. I smiled and told the stylist it looks very chic and has a Parisian look. She agreed, then her eyes widened and said, “It does look Parisian. Let’s go a little shorter and do a French Bob.”
At first, I was hesitant, but the lure of shedding my Mom Bob for a chic and stylish French Bob was enticing. I told her, “Yes, do it. Make a French Bob.”
This time, she started by tilting my head down. After sectioning the back, I unexpectedly heard the humming sounds of clippers coming to life behind me. Before I could say a word, I felt a vibration on my neck, that continued up my nape.
I thought to myself, my God, she’s shaving my head! But the vibration didn’t last long. As soon as she turned off the clippers, on instinct, I immediately reached my hand behind me to assess her work.
I felt a soft velvet sensation that went up to my occipital bone. My stylist said to me, “It feels good, right?” Oddly enough, it did feel good. I replied, “Yes. I wasn’t expecting that.”
She then went back to work with the scissors. Section after section, she continued to cut my hair to mid-ear, fully exposing my earlobes.
When she turned her attention to my bangs, I told her not to make them too short or high on my forehead. I usually wear my bangs from brow to brow; however, when she trimmed my bangs, she cut a straight line from temple to temple, just above my eyebrows.
When I saw my new-formed bangs, I wasn’t too happy. I felt the way they framed my face made it look too wide. I expressed my displeasure and told the stylist that I didn’t like the way the bangs were cut. I told her it gave me an awkward China Doll look.
The stylist apologized, saying she felt the bangs accentuated the cut. She added that if I didn’t like the way they framed my face, she could blend them into the sides for a real European look.
I wasn’t really sure what she meant, but I thought a Euro cut might be a better choice than the China Doll cut I had. So, I nervously told her to go ahead and do whatever she needed to fix it.
As the stylist loomed over me and her scissors ominously approached, I instinctively closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight. The cold metal of the scissors brushed against my skin as she began her meticulous work, slicing from my bangs from my temple towards my ear. With each deliberate snip, the tension mounted, and finally, she reached my ear. The scissors bit into my hair just above it, sending a sound that echoed in my ear. She then swept the scissors across the back of my head, in a relentless motion that carried her to the other side. I felt the scissors as they danced over my other ear, meeting the bangs in a dramatic fashion, forever altering the landscape of my hair.
Satisfied with the work she did, she asked me what I thought. I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror and was surprised to see I had a bowl cut!
After the initial shock of seeing my ears totally exposed, I took a good look at the cut. It was a bold statement, a dramatic transformation that left me breathless. The stylist had promised a real European flair, and indeed, it was a masterpiece. As I shook my head from side to side, my thick hair fell back into place with a grace and style. It was a moment of revelation, a step into a world where I could embrace my new identity with confidence and flair.
I strutted confidently out of the salon, leaving a dramatic 6 inches of hair on the floor behind me. When I arrived home, my husband’s eyes widened as he exclaimed, ‘What happened to your hair?’ I coolly announced, ‘I cut it.’ He scoffed, ‘With what, a soup bowl?’
I grinned and shook my head from side to side. My hair swayed back and forth, then fell back into place perfectly. I declared, ‘See that? My hair was made for this cut, so get used to it. My bob days are over. I’m in my bowl era.’
