PHOTO STEVE ULLATHORNE
I had an argument with my hairdresser today. And before you say anything, I know that isn’t a particularly advisable move. Heated discussions with people who might have the power to physically alter or hurt you should generally be avoided. Dentists, doctors and chiropractors should be treated more delicately than family members due to the fact that they tend to wield some form of weapon or are about to manipulate part of your anatomy.
To be fair, the disagreement came from a place of love. Every time I get my haircut I ask for a perm, and every time I ask for a perm my hairdresser says no. Don’t think that she’s being horrible by refusing my request, far from it. She’s simply looking out for me because she’s bluntly, but correctly, advised me that me turning into a replica of Medusa would be horrible, to say the least. I persist with my request though, because, of all the things about me that I dislike, my hair is the most annoying. Not that I have bad tresses, I’ve just been cursed with locks that are utterly, completely and irrevocably dull.