#69 Chopped!

In White collar denial on January 14, 2011 at 10:30 am

Ever since I started applying for jobs in earnest, I’ve been promising myself that as I get that dream job, I’m going to get a serious hair cut.

This is in spite of the fact that a trip to the hairdresser holds roughly the same rank on my list of ‘favourite ways to spend time’ as folding washing, proofreading events listings, or having George Osbourne tell me we’re all in this together.

But with no job even approaching the vicinity of the horizon, I can’t wait for the chop any longer. It’s an extravagance but I’m reasoning that perhaps my hair shouldn’t be waiting for a job, perhaps the job has been waiting for my hair. Perhaps all it will take is some serious scissor action to transform me from school gate mum into employee of the month. Well, I’ve tried just about everything else.

To start the process of kidding myself I’m employable, I  shun our local high street salon and return to the one in town that I used to frequent when… sniff… well, in the good old days. Even with a string of awards and glossy magazine cover credits, the central London salon (Brooks and Brooks if you are looking for a good recommendation) turns out to be no more expensive, and far less up its own South-London-bourgeois-enclave-orifice, than the local one. Plus they give you a lollipop afterwards. Two if you ask nicely.

I was a bit worried when the woman in the chair next to me, who was having a far more fashionable cut than me, ended her session by tidying the work station and blow drying the hair from the chair herself. A cunning way of keeping prices low in recessionary times I thought. Fair enough. When she reappeared with scissors and the next customer I realised she worked there. Or at least I hope she does.

Three and a half inches of hair lighter (about the length of a small lizard, or a pencil) I’m feeling much more go-ahead, and considerably less grey (which technically I am if you go by quantity rather than proportion). I’ve already signed up for an NUJ course on build your own website, and a free Working Mums career day and seminar (8 March, Islington Design Centre, details here). I’ve finally got round to tackling some editing that has been hanging over me since before Christmas (8,000 words down, 16,000 to go). I’ve filed my first 500 words of the year, secured a commission for about 800 more, and sent an invoice. OK, so it’s not the editorship of French Vogue, but its a start.

[Post script: On the same day, I also bought new trainers. To date more people have noticed the footwear than the hair.]

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