As women, there are a few relationships that define us. There’s the one with your partner or spouse, the one you nurture with your kids, and of course, that sacred, soul-level bond with your hairdresser.
Yes, I said it. The holy trinity of female connection: partner, children, stylist. And honestly, that third one sometimes feels the most stable!
Because let’s be real for a second, we put an unbelievable amount of faith into our stylists. Our hairdressers are part artist, part therapist, part magician. We sit in that chair and pour out our life stories while they mix toners and trim split ends, praying they can read our minds and interpret “just a little off the top” correctly. And unlike our partners, when they disappoint us, the evidence is literally out there for everyone to see, right on our heads.
So when I found out my stylist, my hair soulmate of eighteen years, was leaving the field to teach, my heart sank. Eighteen years! That’s almost two decades of cuts, colors, therapy sessions, life advice, and emotional support. That’s longer than some marriages, and I should know, because mine lasted exactly eighteen years too.
Apparently, eighteen is my expiration date.
I only half-joke about that, but honestly, the timing was uncanny. First came the divorce papers after eighteen years of marriage, and not long after, my stylist of the same duration announced she was hanging up her scissors. It felt like the universe was testing how much heartbreak one premenopausal woman with three teenagers could handle. Spoiler: not much.
Now, unless you’ve ever been through the traumatic experience of finding a new stylist, you might not fully understand. It’s like re-entering the dating pool after a long relationship. There’s awkward small talk, uncertainty, and a desperate hope that they’ll “get” you. You’re putting your trust, and your appearance, into the hands of a total stranger.
I spent weeks in denial. Every time I drove past the salon, I’d sigh dramatically, like a widow in mourning. I even considered following her to whatever beauty school she’d be teaching at, just to be her test subject if it meant keeping our bond alive. But eventually, I had to face reality: it was time to move on.
So, I did it. I took the leap. I booked an appointment with someone new.
And let me tell you, the emotional rollercoaster started the minute I hit “confirm.” I went through all the pre-date jitters. Will she understand my hair? Will she communicate clearly? Will she listen when I say I want a “trim” and not decide that means “a fresh start”?
The day of the appointment, I was a nervous wreck. I took a deep breath, looked in the mirror before leaving work, and thought, “This could be the last time I recognize this woman.” (Dramatic? Maybe. But I’m a lot and I’m not apologizing).
Driving to the salon felt like heading to a blind date after a bad breakup, hopeful, yet bracing for disaster. I rehearsed what I’d say, how I’d explain my hair history, and what to emphasize (“my hair has trust issues”).
But the moment I walked in, I felt a little spark of hope. The new stylist smiled warmly, and I could tell she genuinely cared. We talked through everything, my routine, my concerns, the shade I loved thanks to my awesome ex-stylist who sent me the formula. She listened. She asked thoughtful questions. She even complimented my current color, which instantly won her major points.
And as she worked, I could feel my anxiety slowly melting away. The conversation flowed easily, and somewhere between the shampoo bowl and the blowout, I realized something: I was… comfortable.
When she spun me around for the big reveal, I almost teared up. Not only did she nail the look, a soft, lighter blend with the perfect balance of warmth, but she somehow managed to make me feel like me again.
I tried to snap a “before” picture when I left work, but it didn’t do the transformation justice. The “after” shot, though, oh, I could’ve cried (in a good way this time). My hair looked healthy, vibrant, and full of life.
And just like that, I knew: we were a match.
Who knew it could happen so fast? After one appointment, I think I’ve found my new stylist soulmate. It almost feels like fate, or at least a sign that maybe, just maybe, I’m capable of starting fresh in more ways than one.
I know it sounds silly to some people, but those of you who’ve been with the same stylist for years get it. They become part of your identity, your routine, your comfort zone. Losing that feels personal.
So here I am, a woman in her forties, navigating life after divorce, raising teenagers, and apparently surviving stylist breakups too. And somehow, I’m feeling a little lighter, not just because of the fresh layers and highlights, but because I proved to myself that I can start over and come out better on the other side.
Have you ever had to find a new stylist after years with “the one”? Be honest, did you grieve a little too? Because I swear, I’d drive hours just to sit in that same chair again… but for now, I think I’ve found my new home.
Mom on the go in Holy Toledo 