Public Service Announcement

Do not get your hair cut by a student, no matter how fancy or hip the salon is or what bargain you think you are getting. At first I liked the idea of helping a sister out; she was a student who, like me, is just starting out in the city, and she needed a hair model. I've been meaning to get a haircut for some time now and I liked the idea of paying $20 for what would normally be an $85 style. We would have been okay, too, if it weren't for that damned curly-topped teacher of hers. "No!" Chop. "You're not doing it right!" Chop. "You need to move WITH the hair!" Chop. Now my hair is shorter than it's ever been, or at least since birth. It's if-I-didn't-like-boys-you'd-think-I-was-butch short. I don't know which is more nauseating, my reflection or this. I wish I could find some deeper meaning in this experience, perhaps about the teacher's imposing presence in the creative process or the clashing of opinions on aesthetics, but all I really feel like doing is calling my mother and crying. I hate to be superficial, but it's my hair and I wear it every day!