Dace

Things always pick up in April. Tax season. Boo. But it also means that my annual opportunity to lend my head for modeling purposes comes around. And finally, after years and years of failed attempts and no-shows, B and I managed to do it together…ish.

Prior years here, here, and here, this year was much the same as my prior two stints with KPSS (home of Goldwell and KMS) – get up at an impossible hour, get dolled up, and head into Coquitlam for the 9 AM model call.



They do the whole walk-around, talking about hair thing and when the dust settled, I was sitting pretty with Goldwell and Janelle with FI Hair. They got to work, furiously colouring and poking at our heads, mixed in with some food and copious amounts of sitting around. Ah, the glamorous life of models. lol





After seven hours, we were set free into the world with newly-coloured hair and a promise to show up at the big show the next morning at 7:30 AM for the next part. Ugh. Our next stop was downtown…and, I’m slightly embarrassed to say, a concert filled with screaming teenage girls (and some teenage guys.) Pimples, everywhere. We showed up at the box office two hours before doors opened to buy tickets and discovered a line-up of girls down the street waiting to rush inside. Right. We went off and enjoyed a leisurely dinner and headed back to the theatre five minutes before the show started. Because if there is anything I’ve learned, it’s to show up before your band plays.



Curious about the screaming girls? They were there for their hometown heroes, These Kids Wear Crows. Why was I there? Because their bassist is my boss’s son and I was showing support. Cue the dance-pop brigade.





These blurry and shadowy photos were taken with my iPhone from my plush seat in the back row. Gosh, I think I may actually like shows where I can have a comfy seat and an unobstructed view. Three cheers for the Vogue and a non-sold-out show.

Fefe Dobson was up next, but it was obvious the crowd had cleared out somewhat. I tried to stay as long as I could, but the interest simply wore off as she played on. I can’t care. Plus I gotta be up early. Later days, Fefe.

The next mornings’ wake-up call was as brutal as expected. Starbucks-less, we drove, parked, hopped onto the Skytrain, and trudged up and down the necessary escalators into the giant exhibition hall.






Where are all the bajillion Sun-Runners? Not that I’m complaining…





As with other years, there were some *ahem* annoying models who thought that being in a hair show made them real models now. There was even one lady who appeared to think she was the star of the show and proceeded to take and post photos on Facebook of her and the admittedly (and obviously) gay stylists to make her boyfriend jealous (and I quote.) Fill your boots lady.


Hat hair. Literally.


Could someone be updating their Facebook? *Ahem*

B was on stage first and was the star of her segment. Of course she was!






Chotto rock style! Yeah!

Next up was me, way upstairs in the educational theatre…did I mention this entire trade show is on the harbour in Vancouver? Gah. It’s amazing.



Before picture:





Action shot


Everyone is being educated by my head. It is always a painful experience.



Thanks to some excess chatting my stylists part, my haircut never got finished in the session and so I had to trudge back down to the trade floor with puffy, partially-styled hair. At a hair show. Embarrassing! But he finished the cut when we got downstairs. The cut was called ‘Dace’ and was explained as a helmet cut with some bang fringe coming out the front of the helmet. Here’s the pro shot:



And my version…


Um…I wish they had made it wavy like in the photo. Whatever. But I like it!

After stocking up on lots of cheap hair goods, we bid farewell to the crew and headed out into the seaside air for some dinner food. Turns out that the sweet Rogue bar in the train station had half-price pizzas on Sunday. Yesssss





So, in conclusion, I would like to say that I’m happy that they didn’t cut me a mullet. Again. They always cut me a damn mullet. Although I’m sure my hair will grow into one. It likes to look like a mullet, I think. See you next year!