This third lockdown has really revealed how ugly I can be. My post-lockdown 2 hairdressing appointment was scheduled for March (still, far too late), and cancelled because of lockdown three. I can’t get an appointment until the end of May (to my boss: this is my formal request for the day off. It’s a big, spiritual day for me. It’s my Christmas): meaning my hairdresser will have to deal with hair that hasn’t been touched by a professional for a solid six months. I’ve got split ends that have split ends, resulting in a sexy little flared effect. My roots are revealing the truth that I am not quite the natural blonde I make out. 

I am truly counting down the days until I am in a gown on a spinny chair. I can’t wait for the hairdresser to come over with a brew. With the world opening up a bit, hairdressers will once again be able to ask their favourite question: have you got any holidays booked? And delightfully, I’ll be able to give a positive reply, with some kind of caveat like “if there’s not another lockdown!”- and we’ll both do an awkward laugh or a sigh, remembering how this year has been a sh*tstorm. I will then enter the bliss of three hours without responsibilities while my hair is painted. Truly, when I meditate and am told to think about my happy place, I am in the hairdresser’s chair, with a headful of foils. Gorgeous.

Being the island’s premier writer (available at very reasonable rates) sadly does not pay that megabucks that Carrie Bradshaw made, yet I still try to emulate the glamour of 90s New York. I am fully ready to indulge in a full body makeover. I want my hair, brows and eyelashes full, and any other hair on my body completely stripped. I would like to look like one of those creepy sphynx cats- with fewer wrinkles. Unlike my hair, which I have let go au naturale, I did have to get the tweezers out and attempt my own eyebrows: otherwise I’d be walking about with one, singular large eyebrow. The Frida Kahlo look is not quite my vibe. 

Like many women, I find it hard to get my baps out without a few drinks in me- and then it becomes shockingly easy. Yet, in front of the fake tan lady, I am happy to whack them out as in minutes she manages to turn them from the colour of Ramsey Bakery white to a more summery whole grain loaf. With her help, I look like I’ve had a two week holiday in the Maldives- despite it having been pretty much impossible for over a year.

One of the most luxurious things ever is getting your nails done. Sure, for a fraction of the cost I could run into Superdrug and grab a bottle of polish, and then have numerous manicures: but where’s the joy in living on a budget? I want to live large and have someone do my nails in that way that makes them unchippable and unsmugable. The luxury is not just in having beautiful nails, it’s also in having an hour where you can’t use your phone. Want to bug me? Sorry mate, I’m in the salon, blissfully unreachable. 

Our hairdressers and beauticians are putting the hours in at the moment to make sure that we all get our hot girl summers. They are our unsung heroes: assuring that the island’s population is beautiful… Well, as beautiful as we can be.

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