A pair of bronze hair salon trimmers, glide across my thick, dark brunette hair. It sent tremors down my spine and even though it’s just hair, it’s not JUST hair. I never cut my hair, especially not this short.

The hair specialist sections off some hair from the front of my scalp, and my head is forced back just enough to see the fake glass chandeliers hanging high on the ceiling. She proceeds to trim my bangs, using very fast, but coordinated, hand movements. Unlike any other hair stylist I’ve ever come in contact with, this one did not care for small talk. I had greeted her hello and made a couple other polite gestures, but this woman, was not in the mood for any talking. While she may not be the most personable hair stylist I’ve ever interacted with, she’s amazing with those scissors. She turned my head downwards and spun my chair to face the back, away from the hair products and the mirror I’ve been avoiding for the last thirty minutes. I lower my eyes without moving my head and see the tangles of long, lifeless hair surrounding the base of the parlor chair I’m sitting in. I let out a small shriek of a combination of excitement and worry, covering my mouth with my sleeve right after. The hairstylist grabbed an oversized black comb with a squishy plush handle, and continued styling.