I normally don’t put much effort into my hairdo. I brush it, wash it, dry it, dye it, pull it back, bring it up and let it hang loose. I very rarely go to a salon to have them do any of that for me. Today was an exception because I had a fancy little gift card for a salon near the loop (for you non-Chicagoans, that means downtown).
I went to Mirror Mirror, a place I had never heard of until a month or so ago. I was given a gift card that would allow myself to pamper my whole body for a very small amount. I was sold because I was annoyed with my hair, can’t apply makeup to save my life and I need a massage. Yes, the massage therapist needs a massage! I had to book my appointments in three sets. I didn’t mind.
Today my mom decided to get herself a massage downtown and needed me to escort her, so I did and decided to walk to the salon from there. Little did I know that it was much farther than originally estimated. I didn’t enjoy arriving all sweaty and red. It was empty and I assumed I was the first appointment. Immediately they offered me something to drink and I was happy. Then my stylist greeted me and brought me to her torture chair. She removed the clip from my hair and asked what I’d like. From there she thought it would be swell to question my dying habits. Yes I use the dye from a box. Occasionally I’ll spring for the dye in a bottle from Sally’s. This apparently set her off. She had a look of disgust upon her face. She wanted to dye my hair. I gave in because I hated that I couldn’t cover up the red highlights I have. So we compromised and she just did a touch up, matching the top to the lower locks.
While applying the dye, she began ranting about how there is no such thing as natural beauty. I think somebody is bitter. The salon-life must have hardened her. Then she pretty much insulted me saying I’m too small to be a massage therapist. What does she know? It has nothing to do with the size of your arms! She eventually disappeared and let me sit, baking in my dye, while she helped somebody else. I’m convinced the color stayed on too long. Fast forward…she cuts my hair and it’s time to dry. She dries each individual layer. It took her about a half hour to dry my head of hair, which usually takes about 7 minutes tops.
Blah blah blah…I pay. She asks if I’ll come back. I said yes because I have two treatments still. But I won’t be seeing her. I meet my mom at Borders, once again sweaty, and she tells me I have some dye on my forehead. I go to the bathroom, look in the mirror. Oh my sweet heavens. What stylist lets a client walk out with dye on their face? I’m not talking a little drop or line, no…my entire hairline is dyed, along with the back of my neck and scalp. I’m sorry, but even the dye in the box I use doesn’t dye my skin like that. I’ve never had such a bad experience with dying my hair.
While I like my color (because it’s all one shade now) and I don’t mind the 1/2 inch missing…I am so disappointed with the service I received. It was one thing to insult my financial situation by commenting on box-dye, it’s another to insult my size and career choice, but to do a sloppy job on something I paid for (the gift card only gave me 30% of dye jobs) is just wrong. Especially this.
I’m not happy with the service, mostly just her. Everyone else was nice. But I will not be recommending this place to anybody. And if anyone goes there, watch out for Stella because she will probably fry your hair off if you mention you use the hair dye in a tube from Hot Topic. Now I must go scrub my head in the shower in hopes I can get rid of this brown halo.
