It’s happened to everyone at one time or another: the bad haircut. And recently, hoping to (finally) get new author photos taken (the one included here was taken in 2019 and the one on my home page was taken in 2015), the bad haircut happened to me.

Oh, I’ve had other bad haircuts in the past, though I think in my younger years the experience felt much more traumatic. I’ve also had some good ones. My favourite hair stylist was Nina, and we became friends outside of the salon. But I moved, and Nina’s hours were irregular and it just stopped working. Next came Erin, a five minute walk from my old house. She was fabulous but after a couple of years of going to her, she quit the business. Her replacement at the same salon, Michelle, was always reliable.

Moving to the great white North fulltime last spring, it was time to find a new stylist. I tried one of those “walk ins welcome” mall places — so-so — and then decided to try someone close by. Probably one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. The cut? Let’s just say the best thing about it is that it will grow. To be fair, I did ask for a lot to be taken off, I did okay layers (always a disaster for me), and I’d taken off my glasses while she got cutting, so I have no one to blame but myself.

And so, the new author photos will probably wait another month, when hopefully my hair will be somewhat tameable. In the meantime, you’ll have to stay tuned for the 2023 version of me: hair a mousy mix of gray and brown (having ditched the dye job) and usually wearing glasses instead of contact lenses. In short, older, albeit grateful to be given that opportunity. After all, age is a privilege denied to too many. Bad haircuts? They’re just another part of life.