Victory Smells Like Pickles!

Last week, I got a long overdue haircut. I'd actually needed one before christmas, but because of lack of money and energy, I opted to give myself a little trim instead. It didn't turn out too bad, but mostly because my boyfriend has the skills of a ninja in straight line cutting. Fast-forward two months and my hair still needed a proper cut and now it also needed to be fixed because I couldn't keep my eager little hands (scissors) off of it and my second attempt at self-styling wasn't nearly as successful as my only somewhat successful first.

So began my quest for a haircut.


It started with a google search. Local hair salons. Then my boyfriend called a few of the closest for prices.

I knew the dangers ahead of me: heavily scented products, hairdryers, being asked to hold my head this way and that, overhead lighting. So I packed my trusty bag full of items that would head off or cut off a potential trigger, like cough drops, heat rub, three sizes of earplugs, drugs and water.

We found a salon that met our needs. We walked. We arrived. We opened the door. I almost fell over. I forgot how strong the smell of salons can be, and this was a full service place, so we're talking acetone, aromatherapy, and hair dye in addition to the expected haze of hairspray. I popped a menthol lozenge immediately. The smell was bad, but I was determined to get my hair cut. I dropped my bag on the ground, hung my coat on the rack next to a few others, and had a seat.

The woman who cut my hair spoke limited english, which was fine by me, I'd rather avoid the mindless chit-chat, it's such an empty waste of spoons. I told her right away: no products. "I'm allergic, sensitive." She nodded and repeated back to me, "Oh, ok, you are sensitive." I relaxed. The overhead lights were really bothersome, and sunglasses are just not practical while getting a haircut, so I closed my eyes. I waited for her to ask about my earplugs, but she never did. Ever since I stopped using shampoo I've felt self-conscious at the salon, like they would judge me unclean (even though my hair is a million times nicer and easier to care for without the commercial products, and is never, ever unclean). But she didn't seem to notice a difference. Or she was too polite to say anything. I was pretty relaxed until I heard the stylist rustling around in her station and cracked open an eye to check on her.

She was just about to come at me with a hairdryer and my reaction was the same as the last time a dentist came at me with a needle, I flinched so hard I nearly jumped out of the chair and exclaimed, "OH! NO, THANKS!", a little too loudly. She was nice about it, but she put the dryer back slowly, watching me the whole time, like it was a gun and I was a nut she was trying to talk into releasing the hostages. I smiled at her and she smiled back, warily. She finished the cut quickly and I was pleased with the result. Her boss came over and her perfume asked me if I liked my hair. I gasped that I was happy and bolted for the door, barely pausing to grab my coat and bag on my way out.

My boyfriend paid the people while, outside, I gathered myself. I breathed in the cold winter air, feeling light and cheerful, and my newly short hair whipped in the wind. Then I put on my coat. And I couldn't breathe.

The coat rack I had hung it on? Right next to two other coats? Yeah, apparently perfume transfers really easily. I walked home with my scarf over my face, trying not to freak out. I loved my hair. I was so happy. But my head was starting to edge up in pain levels and my vision was going wonky. AND my spanking new wool coat was unwearable. Well, I could wear it, I just couldn't breathe at the same time. And it is dry clean only. And we are broke, having just spent a good chunk of our not-food money on my hair.

So, I tried to wash it, despite the label. Cold water, light agitation, detergent and baking soda AND a vinegar rinse. Still stank. I washed it again with a shit-ton more of baking soda and a gallon (not really) of vinegar. IT STILL STANK. I was afraid to wash it again, that it would mess up the coat, so I switched tactics. I sprayed it down with mild water and white vinegar mix. It dried and GOOD GOD IT STILL REEKED like desperation and insecurity (perfume). So, I tried one more time, thinking: If this doesn't work, I'll cave and find a dry cleaner. I sprayed the mother down with probably an 80% vinegar solution and now... it stinks to holy hell like vinegar.

But there is no trace of perfume! Success!

The vinegar smell is slowly fading, but I don't mind it. It smells like victory.