One of the major disadvantages to being poor was that my mom cut my hair. My mom, a sweet lady, is not that good cutting hair. She would try and give me a stylish cut, but I always ended up looking like deranged mental patients. I have fine hair, and a crop of bad cowlicks that gang up to make me look like I am not sure how a brush or a shower work. Combine that with the glasses she picked out for me, the thrift store clothes that I had to wear. It was not a recipe for dressing for success with the ladies.
When she was cutting my hair for the last time, she was talking with her friend on the phone. She cut the left side much shorter than the right. I looked in the mirror to see why she had winced and I was mad. I was at the turning point of prepubescent shame and I thought lopsided hair and not my terrible personality was what would sink me socially.
It was the first time in my life that I cared how I looked. While I wasn't super savvy about all things fashion I knew a choppy asymmetric hairline was not going to cut it. I went back and complained, she said she was sorry. She tried to cut the other side which ended up being just shorter than the left-hand side which she had already cut too short. Then one repair followed the next until the upward spiral left me with a tiny mop on top. That made me look more post-op the dead sexy.
Without the weight of the hair, my cowlicks, which were usually just under control, stuck straight up in three places and resisted taming. I tried to straighten them with hairspray and gel. Everything just looked worse because my hair is so fine that hair products do not stick.
I stormed back into the kitchen where she was cleaning up the hair and yelled at her. I told her that she is the worst mother ever and that she ruined my hair and that I hated her. She said she was sorry and started crying and tried to hug me, but I wouldn't let her. She went back to her room still crying while I yelled at her saying she had done a chop job and that I never wanted her to ever touch my hair again. I said that I would save my own money and pay to have my hair cut by someone who wouldn't ruin it.
She got was heartbroken and locked herself in her room while I stood outside banging on the door saying, “Chop Job, Chop Job, Chop Job” and yelling and screaming about how much I hated her.
I calmed down but was scared about the ridicule I would get at school. It turns out it didn't ruin my life and I'm not sure if the haircut was even noticed by anybody. I think once you are so far below the bottom rung on the social ladder that one more goofy thing makes no difference. My mom never cut my hair again. My sister did for a few years and then I went to the 5$ haircut pros.
