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emmanation

You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

so many tiny hairs

September 7th, 2014 by biscuit

Being of Italian descent, there are a lot of ways I could go with a post about hair.

However, today I got the hairs on my head cut. By this woman who I think is the most amazing stylist ever.

This is our story.

Like four years ago, the daughter of the family that owns me and Crockett’s favorite restaurant showed up with an amazing haircut and I complimented her on it and asked who did it, because I was in desperate need of a haircut at the time. She told me it was a woman named Emmy and I called her and made an appointment.

She’s a teeny tiny brunette woman who, at the time, lived in Nederland (where I grew up). She had my goal hair (which, as always, was sort of piece-y and easy and just super hot) and I was shy and nerdy when speaking to her. She gave me an amazing haircut that I can’t find a picture of. (Facebook, what the fuck are you good for if not for finding pictures of your hair from four years ago?) She was basically like me if I was cooler and had decided to cut hair instead of do math.

She intimated the shit out of me, and by the time I called to make another appointment she’d moved to LA. TO LOS ANGELES. Best haircut I’d ever had in my life and the woman who did it just up and went halfway across the country.

Three years later, I had terrible hair. You can only go to cheap stylists and say ‘please do exactly what I have but shorter’ for so long. Eventually it gets blurred into generic hair shape.

I googled Emmy to look longingly at her portfolio, because I apparently remember a good stylist better¬†than, say, high school boyfriends. (True story – my high school boyfriend’s last name was the French word for something else, and the other day I was trying to see if he’d gotten ugly¬†because dear lord all the rest of my ex boyfriends (Crockett excluded, handsome as ever) have gotten ugly (or they always were? and I just didn’t used to be shallow?) and I googled his name with the English translation for like ten minutes before I realized what the problem was.) She was back in Boulder, so I made an appointment and went. It was right before we went to San Francisco.

Unwashed, unbrushed, amazing.

Then she went and had a baby and stopped working for awhile (and one million congratulations to her for that).

So I waited, and grew it all long, and went to a stylist a friend recommended and medium loathed the outcome, and occasionally googled.

And then.

Unmade up. Super pleased.

Just cut, unmade up, super pleased.

She’s back.

You guys, I don’t know how to explain how important this is. Everyone’s hair is a pain in the ass, and everyone should have a stylist who understands the ways in which that pain exists.

High school boyfriends come and go (patently untrue once high school is over unless you are an adult making EXCEPTIONALLY poor choices but just let me say this) but a stylist who understands your hair and that you like it to be a-little-punk-a-little-shaggy-but-never-ever-like-the-mom-from-the-brady-bunch is forever.

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