When you move to a new city, it’s difficult to leave your friends and family behind, but what’s really hard is parting with your hair stylist. I have learned it’s not a good idea to let strangers cut my hair, but I had no choice when I noticed my hair was splitting into thousands of tiny forks.  I only wanted to take a little off and only a very little out of my bank, but nothing in this city is little.

When  looking for a salon in Manhattan, each name sounds a little more expensive than the next. It’s as if every vowel in the name adds to the price. This makes sense, since vowels cost extra on Wheel of Fortune. While Yelp is great for recommendations, can you really trust your hair to the person behind that ½ inch thumbnail of a cartoon mouse? I have been down a long road of hair recovery and I am not going back. I opted to find my own place. While out for lunch, I walked by a place with a fancy name, in a fancy neighborhood with stick-on letters covering the windows saying “Summer Haircut Special $24.95”. Tacky, yet refined.

As  the hairstylist began washing my hair, he started complaining about how he just broke his favorite scissors. He claimed that he simply can’t live without them and my only thought was, “can you cut hair without them?” He seemed prepared to take on my frazzled hair without his trusty sword – but not without a little help. He pulled out a huge leather holster filled with more hair tools than a Sally’s. He wrapped the leather strap around and around and tightened and retightened the buckle. He checked himself out in the mirror, adjusted it so it hung at a desirable 45 degree slant and he was ready for battle.

The haircut took about the same amount of time as it did for him to situate himself. I was relieved that the pieces falling to the ground were the length we had agreed upon. There should be a signed contract involved in all hair consultations. He then went on to blow dry my hair. Whatever he put in my hair seemed to explode as I became immersed in a white cloud of product. I kept looking at his expression to make sure this was normal and that he hadn’t also broken his trusty hair dryer that day.

Once the smoke cleared, I will admit my hair looked good and I was satisfied with my impulsive decision. But as soon as I got the itemized receipt for the shampoo, cut, product and blow out – my hair went flat. A haircut here was like a four course meal. Apparently the special entrée doesn’t include the appetizer, salad and dessert. I tipped the guy an embarrassing amount but I didn’t think the “special” would require an extra ATM visit. I can’t and won’t be going back.

The most important thing was that this didn’t cost me too much hair, but next time I’ll just buy a ticket home. I guess all’s well that ends split ends well.