If you’ve been a reader of mine for awhile, you know that I’m very much so in the closet about wearing hair in my real, non-blogging life.
(Yes, I know I have a blog. Yes, I know this is the internet. Yes, I know I could be found out at anytime. But, I figure if anyone is searching out “hair loss” or “toppers”, they probably are in the same predicament as I am and likely would not spread the word—lest they expose themselves. At least, this is what I tell myself!)
Absolutely no one knows I wear hair. Not my parents, not my siblings, not my coworkers—no one.
I don’t really care if people find out…I wouldn’t mind their questions. Heck, I bet I’d hear a lot of stories from women who are losing hair themselves (maybe they just haven’t gotten to the point of my hair loss, obviously).
What I don’t want is their pity.
Because of that, I’m not forthcoming about the fact that I wear hair. It’s really not anyone else’s business anyway, is it?
So far, it hasn’t been a concern. No one has looked at me funny. No one has asked if I wear hair.
Ladies, no one has suspected a thing!
Until that one day at the salon.
I haven’t been to the salon in over two years. As most of you know, I cut my own bio hair—no big deal as it acts like a bottom layer to my overall style with my helper hair.
I may not go for my hair, but I do still go to get my eyebrows waxed.
I’d gone a few times while wearing hair, and while it always made me a little edgy to have someone’s hands so close to my hair (and in the early stages, my part line! Now I don’t think twice about it.), I always made it through with nary a story to tell.
Except for the last time.
Usually the girls waxing my eyebrows have their hands on my forehead or on my temples while they do their job. No big deal, right? Seven or eight minutes in the chair and I’m done.
This last girl had her hands all over my damn head, and I was in there for no less than 20 minutes.
I appreciated her thoroughness, I really did. And my brows never looked better. But with every touch of my head, I broke out in a cold sweat.
If you read my post about getting my boudoir photos done, you might recall that I’m fairly open with strangers when I need to be, but this situation was a little trickier because there was a definite language barrier.
It’s pretty easy to explain away when someone understands your language (if you’re willing to explain), but all I could think about was, “What is she thinking?!”
And no matter what language you speak, you know something hard all over someone’s head is a bit out of the ordinary.
After she finished up, she walked me up to the front to pay.
She processed my credit card, and then looked up and me and in broken English asked me if I had something on my head.
What did I do?
I did the same thing I always tell you I do. I looked her right in the eye, gave her a big smile, and told her I was wearing extensions.
I have no idea if she understood, and I don’t care.
I figure as long as I acted like it was completely normal, she’d have no choice but to think it was indeed normal.
Even though I made it out of there alive, I never went back. I admit, it rattled me a little.
If you like getting your eyebrows done as much as I do and this story has now officially freaked you out, fear not. There are alternatives!
I now get my eyebrows threaded. I highly recommend it for nervous hair-wearers.
If you’re not familiar, the technician (is that what they are called?) uses thread to pull your hair out. It’s a bit more painful, in my opinion, but, THEY USE BOTH HANDS ON THE THREAD, PEOPLE!
Bottom line: this means no crazy hands all over your head.