There is a sort of spiritual aspect to the experience of getting a haircut. I feel awkward sitting in the barber's chair contemplating such things. I wonder if mine are the first profound thoughts to occur three inches from the faux leather headrest. I think not – that would be presumptuous of me.
But I am an introvert. A testament to how much so is the fact that I consider it often. I am not staring at Melissa the hairdresser or the strange instruments – it's baffling to me that they are all dedicated to hair care – or the reflection-upon-reflection effect you encounter in such places.
Instead, I am now a scientist, ruthless and analytical. Face: too boxy. Nose: too round. Skin: too freckly. Eyes: too dark. This is how my face looks, framed by long, dark hair I have lightened with streaks of copper.
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