For the past several months, i have been planning a visit to the haircut people. I keep postponing because they are so preachy, so mean to me. First they start by complimenting my hair “You have such nice volume”.
The first time i heard this i thought they are talking about my expanding girth and i was pleased that they find it attractive.
Things go downhill from there. They discover that without me knowing it, i have been suffering from a dreaded disease called dandruff. Of course, it’s their duty to inform me, they try to be gentle breaking this news to me. “OMG you have DANDRUFF!”
I am so naive, i don’t even understand the implications of this serious news. I am transported back to my Dermatology posting during internship when we were told in the clinics that dandruff is dead skin. Apparently, we shed dead skin all the time, quite like snakes. Nothing to worry our heads about unless it’s infected with fungus, in which case you absolutely will KNOW about it.
For hair professionals, it seems dandruff is a far greater villain. They look at me with pity and promise that they won’t abandon me in my most difficult hour. I forget to be grateful, and ask if we can get on with the cutting hair part. They forgive me for a while, thinking I’m in denial.
But to their horror, they find out that i intend fully to remain in denial. They show me proof, i am losing hair by the kilos it seems. Again, I have to admit I’m adorable like cats, I shed. But history has proven time and again, that it grows right back.
Finally they give up helping me heal my hair but it has already taken a toll on our relationship. We go snipping away in a loud uncomfortable silence. I pay them and thank them but they look at me as if it’s been an ordeal dealing with me.
That’s why I’m so wary of inflicting myself on the haircare people now.
Draped this Ikat silk that i bring out every winter, super light weight and a little too cheery for my melancholic tastes
Sinners Inc. 