I went to the salon. Before I left the esthetician said, “Would you like a free complimentary touch up on your makeup?”
It was not even 10 am and I am on vacation. The salon was the sole reason I got up and ready before noon. I am feeling fresh and my make up is light and summery but apparently, I already look like I need a complimentary touch up. Thanks for the backhanded offer, but no thanks.
Fancy salons freak me out.
I turn into a quiet, scared little thing who has no ability to speak up and say “WHAT THE CRAP ARE YOU DOING TO MY BODY?” Instead, I smile politely and bear it until I can get home and say to whomever will listen, “LOOK AT WHAT THEY DID TO MY BODY.” Maybe it’s just my personality (I want to do it all myself! I am already capable of this! Get your hands off my feet!) or maybe one of their layers of makeup is magic, but those places turn me into a complacent doormat.
I usually get the “you look like crap let me help you spend buttloads of money” impression at fancy salons. A few years ago I had a gift certificate to get my hair done at a ritzy place. The entire time the hairdresser told me that my hair was dull and lifeless. I was not taking proper care of it and there was a thick, waxy build up on my strands. Her solution? Forty dollar shampoo. Oh, and forty dollar conditioner. I have never once been told my hair is dull and lifeless by anyone other than a fancy hairdresser. I have in fact, been told that I could do shampoo commercials (I’m here for you, Pantene).
I have only had one facial in my lifetime. I was approximately 15 years old. I was what you might call a late bloomer, so at 15, my skin was still childlike in nature (ie spectacularly clear). The entire time I was told that I wasn’t taking care of my skin and that it was in really horrible shape. Here, buy this fifty dollar moisturizer. It will help your acne (which at the time was non existent).
I can count the number of professional manicures and pedicures I have had on one hand. For my brother’s wedding, us girls went out to get our nails done. The lady made my cuticle bleed like mad and put some weird nailpolishy thing on it to make it stop. No explanation, no apology. Just something to stop the blood flow. It was the equivalent of someone chewing a piece of gum and using it to plug a leaky boat. I’m rather certain it wasn’t sanitary.
Another time, another wedding, another mani/pedi. This experience was much better, although I don’t think my lady talked to me once, except to ask if I would like my feet to be made one size smaller with a potato peeler. The pictures on the walls freaked me out.
Maybe I’ve been going to the wrong places or finding the wrong people. Maybe I could be convinced otherwise. Past experience tells me that every time I get all excited to get “pampered” I leave feeling sub par and like I could have done a better job. Also mildly weirded out that I just paid someone to touch my feet.
As a woman I am told that these experiences are wonderful and relaxing. It will help make you feel more beautiful. Honestly, the best experiences I ever had in this area involved myself, my mother, a bottle of nail polish and a mug of tea. The most fun I had as a kid was spending hours alongside my cousin, turning our toenails into butterflies and ladybugs and teddy bears. I’m very much looking forward to the times I will get to paint my nieces’ and/or daughters’ nails and giggle about life. If you want to pamper me, don’t send me to a salon and pay exorbitant amounts of money so a stranger can silently and judgingly remove my bunions. That’s not my idea of being pampered. Give me some good friends, lots of snacks, homemade beauty solutions and a belly full of giggles.
Sorry salons, but you really just freak the crap out of me.
What about you? Salons: love ’em or hate ’em?