For the past few months I’ve been constantly reassured me that my $1600 hair could pass as my own. I’ve requested that my loved ones tell me if something goes awry, such as obvious slippage or badly coiffed bangs. But it’s unanimous. Everyone says my wig is perfect. Everyone except Cosmo.
|August 2011. Cosmo's Best Work.|
Yesterday I went to his salon at the Manulife Centre. He sat me down and gave me a good long look, followed by one of his rare frowns. “Who cut this?” he asked. "Richard", I said, in the tone of one who admitted that they had snuck off to Top Cuts. Then I asked if he could tell it was a wig. Cosmo didn’t hesitate, “Yes.”
Finally! Thank you God and Haridressers! What a relief to hear what I’ve suspected all along. Though I’ve always thought that while my wig looks good, it doesn’t look like the real thing. (But not as bad as the tranny at Continental Hair who was having his ringlets curled. I know I look better then that). I’ve never been one of those people who wants hear that I look good unless it's true. The ultimate kindness is telling a friend when they have a fashion disaster, because you’re giving them the opportunity to improve.
If my arse looks fat in a pair of jeans I want to know. And I truly appreaciate being steered from colour that isn’t flattering, because I’ll never figure things out by myself. (Sister Sue says no more black turtlenecks 'cus I'm too pale and too old. Thank you!). So I’m truly grateful when someone gives me the benefit of their opinion. It’s may be going out on a limb but if someone makes the effort of giving honest feedback, I’m stepping up to the plate. I’m still a work in progress, and I don’t work well alone.
“The average person probably can’t tell it ‘s a wig, but I can,” said Cosmo, gently sweeping the bangs out of my eyes, “But that’s okay. We’re going to fix you.”