Gina

Pix of the Symbolic Post-Break-Up Haircut. This was definitely necessary.

It was sort of The Best Haircut Experience Ever. My hairdresser was UH-MAY-ZING. I got him as a walk in off the street, so I feel especially blessed. I was walking around Cap Hill with Ivy, and we walked by Zero Zero, where I got a haircut last time I was in Seattle. I got a fine & affordable haircut the last time I was there, but nothing spectacular. And I was like “Dammit, I need a haircut ‘cause I’m getting shaggy, but I really especially need a post-break-up haircut.”

I ended up seeing a guy named Craig. Who was extraordinarily gay, extraordinarily garrulous, and, perhaps most importantly, an old queer punk with a rural Washington farm boy past. He had a collage up over his work station proclaiming “LOU REED SAVED MY LIFE.” When I saw that, I was like “Okay. The Break-Up Hair Gods have put me in good hands.”

He asked me what I wanted, and I said “I wanna go short but keep some of the length in the front. I just had a break-up, and this is the Symbolic Haircut — so feel free to be creative.” And of course he lit up.

He told me like 17 times that I have “The PERFECT neckline!” I don’t even know what that means? But it was nice to hear it. The whole time he kept repeating “I love how you’re not scared to go short! I love how you’re not scared of the razor! You have the RIGHT IDEA, you just cut that break-up right outta your hair!” He repeated the phrase “Cut it right outta yr hair!” so much that I half-way expected him to start singing the “Wash That Man Right Outta Your Hair” song, you know?

And then, he gave me $10 off the quoted price, turning a very reasonable salon haircut into a hella cheap salon haircut. I don’t know if I got the Break-Up Discount or the You Are Queer Discount or the I Got To Be Creative Discount. But it was a total delight.

Also? Points to him for clearly reading me as queer and bonding with me over queer punk things, but NOT assuming gender or pronouns regarding my ex. I’d said “break-up,” but I hadn’t mentioned a name or gender. And he kept saying “he or she” or “she or he” or “they.” Like, when the fuck does THAT ever happen, right?!