I gave up on hairdressers twenty years ago, and have been growing my (very fine, brown/increasingly grey) mop since then. It reaches just below my shoulders, which tells you something about how considerate of it I am (not). I did love my half-inch carrot-dyed crop when I lived somewhere there were hairdressers I trust but that isn't here...

I would kill for my mother's (and two sisters') thick black hair that started going white in their twenties -- and nobody ever accused them of being Nice, Grandmotherly or Ladies. I suspect I'll be a wispy old woman who everyone looks at and thinks: ahhhh... Until I BITE them.