hairapy
Your hairdresser is your therapist, and your chair is your confessional. You spill your guts, and they don’t judge you for your bad hair days or your worse life choices.
I told my hairdresser about my ex, and she gave me a haircut that screamed ‘I’m over him.’
My hairdresser knows more about my love life than my mom does.
I cried in the chair, and she gave me a free trim. That’s how much she loves me.