OK, three weeks had passed. It was time for me to go back for my next hair appointment. That is, by the calendar, it was time. By my experience, though, it was well past time.
I had spent the last few days giving serious thought to shaving my head. And this from a person who does not do drastic things to her hair. Heck, I can wear a hairstyle into the ground like nobody else.
Flyaway! Unmanageable! Unruly! UGH!
I don’t want this to sound like I’m blaming the keratin, because I really am not. To backtrack… my hair was still feeling much nicer. But let’s face it, my hair was pretty dry and damaged going in, and even with carefully treating it with only the keratin-friendly shampoo and conditioner, the Blowout wasn’t containing the problem. It hit the wall at about day 14, and it had all been downhill from there.
Now, my hairdresser does not come out and say, “Was that the look you were going for? Because if not, we need to do something about this.” But she should, and I have told her so. But there was no need today. Today, I could not wait to ask her to work some kind of magic.
I walked in the door and the owner (who originally pushed for the treatment and actually wanted me to get the more expensive version) told me I looked so much better having had the Blowout.
In point of fact, my hair was doing an impression of a small shrubbery on my head. OK. My hair had looked better, for those first couple of weeks. But she hadn’t seen me in that time. Now, it was just a softer version of the same old mess.
I don’t know why she said it, short of maybe she wanted to encourage me and thought I didn’t know what I looked like.
Meanwhile she had just had the same treatment, and she looked fabulous. But hey, it was day 1. And she has a different texture hair to begin with. And her hair gets professionally reviewed literally every time she looks at it, and she has access to pretty much every salon-quality hair product known to man.
OK, that sounds a lot like sour grapes, doesn’t it?
Anyway, she left for the night, and I was alone with my hairdresser and told her what I really thought. “This is a nightmare,” I told her, gesturing at the mess. Not only were my roots visible, but my hair appeared to be trying to flee from my head in every direction.
And well it should, because I was so tempted to just buzz it off and be done.
So here’s what she did:
She colored my hair, as usual. Then she ran the color through to the ends again, because the layer of dry dead hair was not holding the color any better than it had held the keratin. And then she had to cut off what was split and dead. About 4 inches off the length, plus layers cut into the back and sides to take more of the damaged layer off.
But she managed to do it in a way that didn’t feel like a big change (again, I’m not a big hair-change person), other than the length overall. Even with the layers I can still pin it up (which is a requirement for me, especially on humid days).
So now my hair feels all soft post-keratin, and looks the right color post-dye, and is actually laying on my head as if it belongs there post-cut. I am happy.
But let’s face it. If I’m still happy with it in 3 weeks, it will be a minor miracle.