COMMENT: Pampering? Pfft. Why getting a haircut is basically torture

Gouging my eyes with a spork is preferable to a trip to the hairdressers.

But if I gouge my eyes out with said spork I’ll still have bad hair. Why world, must you be so cruel?

Now it's nothing to do with the staff, at all. I recently went in for my annual(ish) cut and the salon was fabulous, the staff were lovely and I was delireh with my cut. I even asked for the massager to be turned on the chair when I got a wash, and I actually accepted the coffee instead of nervously saying no in case I spilled it a la Elizabeth in Keeping Up Appearances.

So all in all the conditions were pretty much perfect for a great hair chopping experience.

Nope, it's all me: my fear of small talk, my laziness and my life-long indecisiveness at the 'direction' I want my hair to go. 

The dictionary describes a treat [noun] as “an event or item that is out of the ordinary and gives great pleasure”.

So with that reasoning, we could argue with confidence that ice creams are treats, naps are treats and payday launch attacks on our ASOS 'saved items' are definitely treats.

Haircuts on the other hand, are not treats, because for me, they’re about as pleasurable as the smell out of the brown wheelie bin.

It’s long been a head scratcher for me that so many people refer to getting the mop chopped as pampering, me time, indulgent.

What’s indulgent about spending your hard earned cash simply because your hair happens to look like a cross between a horse’s fetlock and a King Charles spaniel caught in a wind tunnel?

It’s either a Croydon facelift from now until forever or biting the bullet and getting a haircut, so TELL me we have a choice.

Is clipping my toenails a treat? “What are you doing Friday night?” “Oh I’m just going to sit back with The Gilmore Girls and a mocha latte and cut my toenails.” Or what about bleaching my ‘tache with the good old Jolen Creme Bleach? Me time? Or just a gigantic pain in the arse?

So how is getting a haircut any different? Clue: it's not. A haircut is just another grooming activity I file under the category ‘Rather Be Doing Anything Else’.

I think it’s mostly because I’m put into a situation where I’m forced to awkwardly converse.

In the salon chair I revert from a confident, young(ish) woman into an awkward mess who feels like passing out at the thought of small talk.

You see, once I know someone I'm golden, full of verve and zest, definitely not monosyllabic. In fact, if I'm comfortable and relaxed, I'm throwing the syllables around like they're going out of fashion.

But hairdresser me is nervy, my voice is squeakier than usual and I agree to whatever the hairdresser says because just like Dorothy, I want to go home. 

Then there’s the painful introspection. From staring at my stupid head in the mirror and thinking self-destructive thoughts (like “Christ my lips are a weird shape” to “How can I look about 12 and be wrinkly; something’s not right here”) to shouting over the hairdryer my plans for the evening (“GOING TO SEE DAVID BRENT THE MOVIE YES RICKY GERVAIS THE OFFICE OH YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT CHECK IT OUT YES HE DID PRESENT THE GOLDEN GLOBES YES VERY OFFENSIVE”.)

And on top of this indignity, vocalising my thoughts and opinions awkwardly over the blast of hot air while the whole salon listens in makes me cringe. “Who ARE you?” I ask myself. “Deep inside, who ARE YOU REALLY?”

Who needs that sort of soul-searching when all you came in for is a trim?

But then I leave the salon and seconds later I'm swinging my shiny new hair in shop windows. I feel happy, like myself again, and most importantly, fetlock-free.

So maybe that’s the ‘treat’ part of getting a haircut. Not the head massage or the reading Now with a coffee as your hair is ‘coiffed', but that lovely feeling you get checking yourself out in the freezer doors in Tesco.