No Longer 50 Shades of Grey

One of my first blogs “A Bad Hair Day has a New Definition” was about NOT coloring my hair during the Pandemic. Now that three months have passed, I thought I would give an update.

I cried “Uncle”! I gave up! Vanity overcame Virus! I went to the salon.

We are in New York State and there are a lot of rules to follow to open a salon. In fact, some say salons have more procedures than doctor offices!

I go to Morcelle Salon and trusted that they were going to be safe. But still, I was nervous especially when I had to answer a list of questions prior to my visit.

On the day of my appointment, I drove into the parking lot and called the main office. My colorist covered in mask, gown and carrying a thermometer met me at the car. At first, I didn’t recognize her.

She used a contactless thermometer to take my temperature, which registered at 100 degrees! What! I have fever? She calmed me down and explained that sitting in a 90-degree car presumably raised my temperature.

After a few moments, when I was out of the sun, we took it again and to our relief my temperature was normal. I passed the test and was allowed into the building.

The salon looked different from the last time I visited. The empty space alongside chairs was now lined with plastic walls between each station. The front desk where people used to congregate, and chat was now surrounded by plexi-glass barriers. A limited number of masked clients were getting their hair washed, cut and colored. It’s hard to recognize anyone when they are getting their hair colored.

Nobody wants to be noticed when they are getting their hair colored. It’s not a good look. Your hair is lathered with gobs of dye. Some of us are hosting aluminum foil from random spots on our head. Hair is pulled back and plastered to your crown. And then there is me wearing what looks like a shower cap over the gobs of color. Add a mask to this assembly and you have an extraordinary looking group. No photos, PLEASE!

Chelsea, who colored my hair, was very calm and confident. She understood my anxiety and we both agreed that I would sit in my car while the color was processing. This time I turned on the air conditioner.

Forty-five slow minutes passed, and Chelsea once again met me at my car to escort me back to the salon. She washed all the products from my hair and set me free. I was able to pay quickly via the plexi-covered receptionist and flee.

Am I glad I went? Yes, I trusted that the salon was safe and clean. I guess vanity does play a major role in my day-to-day life, a humbling realization. Hey, maybe next I’ll consider a manicure!

A Bad Hair Day has a New Definition

Click on link for Morcelle Salon

https://www.morcellesalon.com/