Not the kitten heel... the kitten head

From my Deeply Superficial column in the March (sydney) and (melbourne) magazines:

Twice in my life I’ve fallen foul of the haircutter’s scissors and found myself sitting nervously in a salon chair as I watch my long hair being slashed to half an inch of its life. I’m sure that I was a Weimar Republic cabaret artist in another life and the urge to chop the locks into a Liza Minnelli-as-Sally Bowles bob (foolish for a blonde) becomes irrepressible sometimes. Hairdressers are amazingly quick to pounce on their clients’ identity crises and so I have twice ended up with horror cuts that, far from accentuating my divine decadence, made me look like a refugee from a bingo hall. I think we have all been there.

Let me say at this point, lest my hairdresser of 25 years gets upset, that these two occasions were outside his jurisdiction. These days, whenever I feel like a radical change – that is, short hair - he just rolls his eyes and refuses to budge. Bless him. But, fortunately, in 2008, if I do ever find myself succumbing to a brain short-circuit and demanding a Liza Minnelli, I can always call on Jessica Simpson to reverse the damage.

Hair extensions have always seemed to me rather terrifying. The type that is glued and bonded to the hair surely can’t be good for it. And the weaves, which are preferable, always remind me of a balding doll I had as a child and the way her hair was brutally stitched into her plastic scalp. But I suppose, if I try very hard, I can see the attraction in it, especially for women (let’s not even think about the men) with thin hair or those who need an Instant Rapunzel for a wedding or big night out. No one wants to wait for anything these days, let alone five years for hair to grow, so two or three hours in a salon chair reading international Vogues and sipping sparkling water seems like a breeze.

In an unfamiliar salon the other week I was shocked to see the number of chairs filled with young women having extensions sewn in. Each of them glowed with the bright wattage that comes from feeling sexy about their new look. But I couldn’t help feeling there was something creepy about it, just as I find nail extensions creepy. Occasionally, I have been sent clip-on hair extensions to try, such as those from Diva, and they’re all very clever, but ultimately they lie around the house, unused, like golden, baby ferrets.

So when the invitation came to have a HairDo™ salon clip-on extension from Jessica Simpson (you mean all that blonde hair is not hers?) cut and fitted by Anthony Nader at Sydney’s Raw, I thought I should open my mind and take up the offer. After all, unlike the permanent extensions, I could always just take it out.

In fact, the 21-inch long, 100% human hair extension is exceptionally easy to clip on and clip off. Initially, you need to purchase it from a salon, select the colour from 13 options and have the piece shaped to blend with your own hair. It’s all extremely simple – the long hair is woven onto one form, rather like a wig, and once you make a section through your hair and pin the length up, it attaches with seven very secure clips. The natural hair blends well and in theory it looks completely natural.

But here’s the thing, and maybe it’s just me – it doesn’t feel completely natural. It’s lightweight and yet my own hair, pinned in a bun underneath, felt lumpy under the fall. It was as if a small kitten had attached itself to the back of my scalp and wouldn’t let go. On top of that, a monsoonal rain came down as I left the salon and it felt like a very damp kitten had attached itself to me. It itched. I couldn’t wait to get home and get it off.

I willing to accept that for someone with fine or short hair these things are godsends, but for me the extension has become another abandoned critter in my bathroom menagerie.