style gripe
Apr. 22nd, 2011 11:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saffronhareOkay, who thought we'd see the day when I was a maven of style in any situation?
.
.
.
That's what I figured.
Anyway, this is still bugging me. Last weekend, PB and I did the style-a-palooza in preparation for OMGPROM (which I am ever so thankful to be done with this year, thankyouverymuch). Shoe shopping was so much fun. We'll have to post photos of Those Shoes, they are so fabulous. I was certain Clinton and Stacy were going to pop out from behind a mirror and give me a little award for suggesting she try them on. Or maybe just![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chernobylred. Either way = WIN.
The make-up session went well. I learned a thing or two, and so did PB. Plus, the make-up applied at 1:30 p.m. truly did look excellent in photographs and last all friggin' night. (Not an expense I'd usually take on, but it was so close to her birthday.)
Where we ran into a snag was with the hair. Now, PB didn't decide until Thursday that what she wanted most in life -- after sparkly and impossibly fabulous shoes, of course -- was somebody to do her hair for her. I think she does a great job with her hair. In fact, she's the Designated Do-er of Hair around the house whenever one of the sisters has a special event. So when the girl said, hey, I'd really like to have somebody do my hair, it meant she wanted something she couldn't pretty much do on her own. (This part is important.)
I made some calls and was able to get an appointment at a salon in town just after the time we'd be done with make-up. It should have been a clue when we walked in and PB described the style she wanted as "sort of Bohemian," and the stylist asked, "what's Bohemian?"
I'll give you a moment with that. I mean, really. Who in the world of beauty and style doesn't know what the word Bohemian means? PB wanted sort of a loose bun, gathered low on her neck, with some tendrils of curls escaping artfully. They got started, and I went away for a few minutes to the flower shop to pick up a boutonniere for the Boy.
By the time I got back, the stylist created what I call "Dance Team Style #1" -- you know, sort of a high ponytail gathered close to the head with a lot of tight ringlets. FAIL. This horrified PB, since she hasn't had a lot of experience and didn't want to be a cranky customer. I said, NO. The stylist countered with, but it looks great! That's not the point, I replied. The *point* is to give her the style she asked for, and this ponytail wasn't anywhere in what she described. The stylist looked at me for a minute and I said, well, good thing we've got some time, so you can try again! (Clearly, that was not the response she was looking for.)
So the stylist tried again, and failed again. We paged desperately through some magazines to see if we could find an example of what she wanted. KiraDeara found a photo (hell, the second-grader even knew what style elements to look for!) and the stylist didn't know how to do it. Stylist suggested using a bump-it. That's when I walked over to the flummoxed PB, got my fingers into her hair, and did some twisting and lifting. Like that, I said. Finally, we reached a style that PB said was "pretty." Good thing the girl has good hair, is all I can say.
I noticed that she only said, "It looks pretty," not "I love it." Not even "I like it." She was upset, but it was time to leave. We had run out of time and were just ALL DONE. Sadly enough -- for both my wallet and her mood -- it was something she could have done much better herself. Except she would have gotten a style she actually wanted that way.
UGH. PB pronounced, as we were getting back into the car, "Mom, next time, we have to find a gay man to do my hair." And she was so fucking right. Except she'll have to forgive me for being glad the next time is a whole year away.
.
.
.
That's what I figured.
Anyway, this is still bugging me. Last weekend, PB and I did the style-a-palooza in preparation for OMGPROM (which I am ever so thankful to be done with this year, thankyouverymuch). Shoe shopping was so much fun. We'll have to post photos of Those Shoes, they are so fabulous. I was certain Clinton and Stacy were going to pop out from behind a mirror and give me a little award for suggesting she try them on. Or maybe just
chernobylred. Either way = WIN. The make-up session went well. I learned a thing or two, and so did PB. Plus, the make-up applied at 1:30 p.m. truly did look excellent in photographs and last all friggin' night. (Not an expense I'd usually take on, but it was so close to her birthday.)
Where we ran into a snag was with the hair. Now, PB didn't decide until Thursday that what she wanted most in life -- after sparkly and impossibly fabulous shoes, of course -- was somebody to do her hair for her. I think she does a great job with her hair. In fact, she's the Designated Do-er of Hair around the house whenever one of the sisters has a special event. So when the girl said, hey, I'd really like to have somebody do my hair, it meant she wanted something she couldn't pretty much do on her own. (This part is important.)
I made some calls and was able to get an appointment at a salon in town just after the time we'd be done with make-up. It should have been a clue when we walked in and PB described the style she wanted as "sort of Bohemian," and the stylist asked, "what's Bohemian?"
I'll give you a moment with that. I mean, really. Who in the world of beauty and style doesn't know what the word Bohemian means? PB wanted sort of a loose bun, gathered low on her neck, with some tendrils of curls escaping artfully. They got started, and I went away for a few minutes to the flower shop to pick up a boutonniere for the Boy.
By the time I got back, the stylist created what I call "Dance Team Style #1" -- you know, sort of a high ponytail gathered close to the head with a lot of tight ringlets. FAIL. This horrified PB, since she hasn't had a lot of experience and didn't want to be a cranky customer. I said, NO. The stylist countered with, but it looks great! That's not the point, I replied. The *point* is to give her the style she asked for, and this ponytail wasn't anywhere in what she described. The stylist looked at me for a minute and I said, well, good thing we've got some time, so you can try again! (Clearly, that was not the response she was looking for.)
So the stylist tried again, and failed again. We paged desperately through some magazines to see if we could find an example of what she wanted. KiraDeara found a photo (hell, the second-grader even knew what style elements to look for!) and the stylist didn't know how to do it. Stylist suggested using a bump-it. That's when I walked over to the flummoxed PB, got my fingers into her hair, and did some twisting and lifting. Like that, I said. Finally, we reached a style that PB said was "pretty." Good thing the girl has good hair, is all I can say.
I noticed that she only said, "It looks pretty," not "I love it." Not even "I like it." She was upset, but it was time to leave. We had run out of time and were just ALL DONE. Sadly enough -- for both my wallet and her mood -- it was something she could have done much better herself. Except she would have gotten a style she actually wanted that way.
UGH. PB pronounced, as we were getting back into the car, "Mom, next time, we have to find a gay man to do my hair." And she was so fucking right. Except she'll have to forgive me for being glad the next time is a whole year away.
