I’ve been in LA five years and forget sometimes that you can have anything you want, pretty much simultaneously at the instant you want it. Money, food, French food, Thai food, Ukranian food, obscure vitamins and health products, shark fin, a maid, guns, cars, pets … the list goes on. And hair.
Of course hair. This is the place where nobody bats and eye at a good boob job or a newly streamlined nose (and tsk tsks at badly done ones). At my hairdresser, I timidly explained that I might want extensions for my wedding. She told me the place to go — about 10 minutes away — and I walked into the Hair Shop (which is truly that) and in five minutes and $125 later, had my own lush coiffure in a bag.
It’ll need a little adjusting to match my color. Growing up always with long, curly hair, in the 45 minutes that I have been wearing them, I feel more like myself with the extensions than without them.
And to think I have been pounding Omega 3s for months in hopes to grow, grow, grow my hair long for my August wedding.
In LA, you can buy anything. Which is scary and comforting at the same time.
