I recently planned a trip to Coachella. Like every girl, when I book a trip I start the usual, what I consider to be, “normal” preparations.
- work out
- eat healthy
- plan outfits
- spray tan, manicure, pedicure… And those are the obvious musts.
Maybe I am psychotic, but a tier two list of consideration also crosses my mind. Do I need my hair done? A facial? Do I need to take Clean Start? Could a colonic save me?
I’m not sure what the hell is wrong with me (and from speaking with my girlfriends this seems to be a collective trend), but I have a very bad habit of putting too much pressure on looking a certain way, in hopes to feel a certain way, in order to leave my house for more than 24 hours.
Let’s flashback to last Tuesday when I spent the longest 45 minutes of my life in the bathroom of a hair salon on the Upper East Side, bawling my eyes out. I had told the stylist I wanted to keep my hair long. And sure, if you were walking down the street with your boyfriend and you asked him if I had long hair, he would say yes, but these inches felt like life or death increments to me. Kind of like I’d imagine they are for a girl who is 5’7 and dreams of being a model. And don’t even get me started on all of the layers. I feel like I lost 2 lbs. So, I’m in the bathroom… bawling. I immediately text my girlfriends and began my force a smile technique. (I read years ago that if you force a fake smile for 10 minutes or so, it triggers something in your brain that reads “happy” and calms you. The technique also included biting down on a pencil, but I have used it so many times I no longer need that crutch.) Anyway, I would work my way down from a bright red face – to pink and settle just enough to be able to read my text, only to see “that is so fcked up that he cut it and you told him not to” and would then start my whole crying process over again. I knew I needed to turn my phone off. I was like a heroin addict at this point. Nothing was going to stop me from reading a text if I heard the ping.
I needed to get my shtt together. So off went the phone. I smiled til it hurt, applied Visine (I hope no one ever leaves home without it), and my Nars Tinted Moisturizer - the most yellow product I had on site to neutralize the red.
Finally, I walk out of the ladies to find a woman standing there, “Hi Bridget, I am the manager. Are you ok?” I assumed everyone thought I was long gone. I insisted I was FINE, but the second she forced me to explain myself I burst into tears.
But, what was I thinking? It doesn’t take a scientist to understand that if you want super long, dramatic hair for Coachella, DO NOT CUT YOUR HAIR TWO DAYS BEFORE YOU GO!
I left the salon and decided to walk a few blocks. As I turned the corner, there were men giving out lotion samples in front of a cosmetics store. As they were forcing them down my throat they must have realized that behind my new Dior Sunglasses I had been crying. Fast forward five minutes later as we are talking out my issues over a (whatever brand of lotion they were selling) hand massage and the men were offering to “clip” whatever man must have broken my heart… only in New York! Anyway, I told them what happened with my hair and before I left the man told me, “Remember it’s ONLY hair… and if it were that important I wouldn’t have it on my ass.” Uhm he nailed it! Sure, it was a beyond gross thing to say, but it made me laugh and really put things into perspective.
What was the point of all this? And was I really this upset over my hair or was I just freaking out over the insane amounts of stress I was putting on myself to get 150 things done in a day before I left? Like… is that facial you HAVE to squeeze in the day before really going to make or break your vacation? Chances are it’s just going to make you break out from all this unnecessary stress you are putting on yourself. I realized I needed a vacation from this vacation already and I canceled every other appointment I had planned. I immediately felt a million times better by doing so. Okay fine – if we are being honest… I canceled all except two… I told you I am psychotic!
Photos via Elle Mexico