Tag Archives: haircuts


Long, shot, long short…that is the question.

My story with hairdos has been a tough one. Some unforgettable mistakes, changes in my hair features, the progressive darkening of my tone…

There were two epic fails which especially marked me for good, in a negative way, and I didn’t have any chance to get away from them, as they were imposed by my dad. Sorry dad, I know this might piss you off, but it’s MY hair what we’re talking about here.

Even though you might not believe it, I used to be a cute blonde baby, with pretty straight hair. It’s true as I was growing up, it darkened, however natural streaks used to come up for Summer. I liked that. It’s also a fact that with age, my hair used to become more prominent, and consequently a bit wavy.

First epic fail occurred when I was 12. My daddy cool came to the conclusion that light streaks would look great on me, enhancing my still blonde traces, so I’d look shiner. The mistake was he took me to his hairdresser’s, PEPE’SS, which was slowly becoming one of these unisex saloons, but the process and the handling of certain stuff typical of women wasn’t at their best at that point. The owner, Pepe, had bought very advanced dryers and modern stuff, but they didn’t have much idea of dye color, nor drying timing. We could say I was their guinea pig. I ended up, almost blonde, with my ears on fire and my forehead red burned. It took very few time to realize my hair was actually burnt. It was so frustrating I started hating the word streaks with all my heart.

After many cleaning cuts, and my hair growing for a couple of years, there it came the second mistake. This time because I had so much hair and it was a bit wavy, my dad thought it’d be great to define it and curl it a bit. I’m not sure if Pepe’ss was the selected hairdresser’s again, I’d bet it was, but I cannot confirm it, because the whole experience turned into an absolute drama, and I’m unable to remember side details.

What was to be a soft perm, eventually turned into something rad. After spending an eternity at the saloon, when I stared at myself, once my hair was dried and ready, I felt like crying. I could only think of locking myself p in my bedroom to never get out. The problem was that I had to attend school the following day, as I was 13. My hair was an afro. I’m not joking. There was no way I could smooth down such escarole in my  head, and by all means I could wear a cap to school. No matter how mentally prepared you think you are to overcome endless jokes coming from your classmates, at some point your protecting walls collapse and then you feel humiliated. I was called lollypop, clownescarole, mini Jackson 5, Pelanas (a famous tv puppet dog) and Jimi Hendrix.

I don’t know how I’d manage something like that nowadays, probably with dignity, looking for restoring back to normal. When you’re 13, something like that breaks your self-esteem. Too many changes and events happening at the same time, physical and mental. I was already carrying braces, my period had recently showed up, I had those permanent spots in my forehead, I was passing through a stage of anti-sociability, realizing I didn’t fit in some environments…and so on, thus an afro didn’t help me much in feeling better.

At this point I have to remark there aren’t photos proving what I’m  telling, because the least thing I wanted were pictures, as you can imagine.

It took me many months to recover a curly long hair, leaving the afro behind, however my hair changed for good, and it was completely rebel.  For many years it was one of my biggest obsessions, and the cause of me wearing a garcon style for 3-4 of years, until I moved to London and decided to grow it longer and dye in black… for 5 years.

I’ve been trying to grow it long this year till yesterday. I felt the urge for a change. On one hand, it was  getting  rid of expendable hair which was more a nuisance rather than improving its appearance, and on the other, as the turning point to move on from this period of inactivity I’ve experienced this year. sometimes you have to do physical changes like this to mark the conclusion of a period of time. This is my way to do so.

Also I tried California streaks this past summer, bringing back my lost hair tone, and I liked it, thus I’ve decided to add more, now being dark blonde. How long will this last? I don’t know. One month, two years, the rest of my life…perhaps when I look for another rad change in my life. what I can say right now is that I see myself more shining, and that’s good, because I’m looking forward to ending this awful year, and start 2013 in the most stunning and sparkling manner.


My hair looked like a scourer lately so I’ve decided to pay a visit to the usual hairdresser’s this afternoon.

I’ve been thinking I want it to grow longer, I’ve been cutting it quite short for many years and I must confess I love feeling my hair alive, especially when headbanging. But you know, after several months just having my fringe cut, hair was damaged and required an important cleaning up.

I’ve been going to the same hairdresser’s for seven years. As soon as I moved to Barcelona, asked a close friend for a decent place and she recommended me this place. No complaints, although staff is constantly rotating and it’s impossible to have a fixed stylist.

For this reason, it’s luck which decides whom you will entrust  your head.  You know how this goes, you ask for just 2-3 fingers cut shorter and when you leave the place half of your hair is being swept away.

Hairdressers go mental as soon as they realize they have possibilities in being creative with a customer. I’ve been a victim of one of these nutters today.

The guy, although not gay, and quite freak by the way, has told me a story once he’s listened to my request, which was very simple: cut to clean, cut my fringe…I want my hear longer, so give it shape, pleeaaase.

He’s cut more than expected but shape is ok, my fringe a little bit longer than supposed in one side but everything seemed to be under control. But! Hairdryer moment has arrived and God! I’ve tried not to laugh loud but I was watching my transformation and was thinking “as soon as I arrive home I’ll go straight to the shower”. He’s put a kind of gel to enhance my curls and hydrate my hair at the same time, and he’s started making curls…

I was smiling, because I couldn’t laugh, and I’ve managed to  define my look as genuine…but just one question has been coming to mind nonstop:



I reckon if I gave him freepass to do what he really wanted in my head I would have an afro right now. And the jerk has remarked, to increase my pain, that messy and curly hair was the style that suits me best!! C’mooon!

Thank God everything will turn to normal by tomorrow morning…Now you can laugh!