My friend from High School, Justin Kelly, owns this salon, Studio 3. It’s this fabulous high-ceilinged space over near the Target Plaza in Carlisle. He’s got his own line of products and tons of Ikea furniture.
He says he’s living the American Dream. He has a house and two dogs and a partner and a Volvo and his own highly successful business. If I wanted him to do my hair, I’d have to book 2 years in advance.
And I LOVE giving him and his stylist Jeannean my money. And I LOVE the whole grown up hair salon experience. I had a cut and highlight, and it cost $80, which is probably more than I’ve spent on ALL the haircuts I’ve had in the past 10 years, but I swear–I got my head shampooed and conditioned not once but TWICE with this awesome Studio 3 Mint shampoo, and the most excellent moments of utter self-indulgence and femaleness and estrogen-laden energy.
I’m finding that indulging all of this womanhood, or maybe not womanhood because I am a woman every day and I’m mostly comfortable with that. Maybe I mean that I’m experiencing a new kind of comfort with my own femininity, my own interest in prettiness, in nice hairdos, in nice creams, lotions and skin treatments. I have started moisturizing my face and getting excited about eyeshadow, mascara, moisturizing conditioners. I’m finding all of this to be both an extension of my newly realized militant feminism and in reaction to the fact that my job puts me in the presence of almost exclusively men on an hour-to-hour basis. And the whole thing kind of freaks me out. I’m not comfortable in this comfort or in my level of involvement in the comfort.
I have to admit that it’s also a bit about Pearl. How am I going to be a mom to a very feminine little girl who will eventually have very feminine little friends who will pressure her to get her eyebrows waxed? How will I negotiate? How will I navigate unless I learn myself?
I don’t want Pearl to be 20 before she learns that people actually do wax their eyebrows. I also don’t want her to be shocked. Perhaps I should like it if she found the whole thing to be an horribly barbaric expression of cultural vanity, but I’m not holding my breath. I think she might possess her father’s disinterest in a critical inner life which is another thing I shall have to learn to negotiate.