To Spill Or Not To Spill…

Do you ever get sick of yourself?  Like, when you’re talking, and suddenly you just want to scream, “Blah!  I don’t wanna talk about me anymore!  I’m over myself today!”  This happens to me a lot when I’m working at the salon, and mostly because I feel like so much of my day revolves around talking about my life.  I think other hair stylists will agree, when women are at the beauty salon they want to gossip, and let me tell you, I’ve heard some cray cray stuff in my time as a stylist.  What always surprises me, though, is how much clients want to know about me. Their questions range from personal to general, but I find that more often than not, I’m asked these questions: What brought you to New York? How long have you been married? How did you meet your husband?  What does your husband do?  Where do you live?  Do you want children?

Sometimes I feel like these ladies are looking at me all like:

You know you want to.

You know you want to.

I really don’t mind sharing things about my personal life, but sometimes it gets exhausting.  It can feel good to talk about myself and therapeutic to share stories, but there are other instances where divulging too much has made me feel overexposed.  I remember telling one client about the time Matt got really sick when we were living in Grenada and how scared I was.  An almost stranger knew about one of the most terrifying moments of my life, and I felt really weird about it afterward.

I think sharing personal anecdotes are one of the big ways women connect with each other (and human beings in general).  Women are emotional creatures, I get it, and I am very emotional, but I do find as I get older, I’m turning into more of a dude.  I don’t really like to have super long conversations on the phone anymore, I can’t stand gossip, and I’ve started to take things at face value more.  Maybe it’s because I live with a dude, maybe it’s because I’m content with where I am in my life, or maybe I simply spent my entire 20’s analyzing myself, and now at 30 I’m spent.  Either way, it’s safe to say I’m just not that into me anymore.  I mean, I love myself as I believe every confident person should, but I just don’t care to brag about how awesome my life is.

I guess I’m too busy living.

~The End.

Photo by Anne Taintor.

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You. Better. Work.

This past Wednesday I had the awesome opportunity of being the lead hair stylist on a photo shoot for the first time.  In the past I have merely assisted (which was also exciting), but I never got to be the one to collaborate with the creative director or dictate how I thought the hair should be styled.  On other shoots prior to this, I had always taken direction from a higher up, so it was inspiring to make the final call and do things my way.

So, when I was asked this past Monday if I was interested, I blurted out an enthusiastic “YES!,” even though I have a zillion things to do before Matt and I move next week.  It was too awesome of a chance to pass up.

The photo shoot was basically what they call a “test shoot,” which means that the photographer is taking the pictures for either their portfolio or website.  This particular shoot was really fun because it super laid back, and everyone was bouncing ideas off of each other.  At one point the clothing stylist asked me for my opinion on one of the male model’s attire. She asked, “Socks or no socks with shorts?”  I said, “No socks.  Definitely no socks.”

Something else cool about this particular shoot was that there was also someone there filming what was happening behind the scenes, so yours truly just might make an appearance in some of the footage.  I will keep you all updated as to when and where you can see it.

Here are some pictures from my point of view…

Washington Square Park

New York City street at dusk.

Notice the name at the top? It’s actually me, they just used my maiden name…

P.S.  Throughout this shoot, I could not get Rupaul’s voice out of my head singing, “Work, now turn the left. Work, now turn to the right…,” and I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.

~The End