She wondered if she could find work to get some cash together until her sister’s funds arrived. Even though she had worked as a hair stylist during college, she knew the only gigs she could get here were as an English teacher or a hostess, or worse, something seedier. She shuddered at the thought of that, thankful that the fact she was on the run made it impossible anyway.
tonykeyesjapan
I look in the mirror and I can hardly recognize myself. I came in here to get ready for my date, but now, I look totally different. And I hate it. I rush to the bathroom and wipe my face of all the make-up. It takes a while for it to come off, but I feel much, much better when it’s all clean.
mary lou
Ugh, again. Okay, I do not really know why the State of Texas requires stylists to be licenced, I have always wanted to ask a stylist about that. I guess a lot of people would be upset if someone would mess up their hair.
jorge
Sombody that makes you look good. Not nessecarily you, but something about you. Your house, clothes hair – anything. Feeds your vanity. They can help to bring you up though, and there’s nothing against them. Often, I have very nice chats in a barbers chair.
Cai Burton
She promised that she would be an excellent stylist when it came to figuring out all of the costumes for the show. No one was quite sure why a stylist was needed to begin with – the play took place in the current day and age and therefore was in modern dress – but she pushed to say she could make it all work out perfectly as long as they just trusted in her.
she cut hair for a living. She did colors, she did nails, she did everyrthing…she was a stylist!!! And a damn good one at that!! So you know that she could take this career anywhere!!
that one word changed everything. it was the end or the new begining, what was it i cant comprehend. she just said it and it all became so clear why i was like this why she treated me like this. she said adopted
Shubham Dimri
Style is very individual. To style someone else (to be a stylist) is a huge responsibility. You are responsible for figuring out who they are and translating that into a physical medium that they can show the world.
I wasn’t sure what the stylist had in mind when she show case the display at the function the other even. Those who attended the opening left with a bitter taste in their mouth at the sexual overtones that was evident all through the event.
‘I aspire to be a stylist.’
‘Why’
‘So I have the freedom.’
‘Freedom?’
‘Yeah. Most people are too shy to talk to their stylist. They also trust their stylists completely.’
‘So’
‘So, each person can be my own little experiment’ He said with a wicked smile.
There is nothing i can say. Just nothing about her that would be polite. My mum always said that if you don’t have anything nice to say then say nothing. I’m holding my tongue. Biting back the vitriol which is forcing it’s way out through the mechanism of my vocal cords. This one would imagine is how it will always be.
I am such a sly word stylist. IT has now been put to test. Now to wait patiently and find out if my product is being bought or not. What will be said? What will be the feedback?!
All false, nothing but smoke and mirrors and lip gloss and hair product. False images, false faces, empty eyes. She gazes into mirrors all day long, glossy and flat and sleek and silver. A world of reflections, devoid of humans, only clay waiting to be molded. Shaped. Refined. Stylized. Taking a reflection of something living, a flat, poor rendition of beauty, and transforming it into yet another image. Empty, empty, eyes gazing at reflections of life, but unable to retain their own.
All false, nothing but smoke and mirrors and lip gloss and hair product. False images, false faces, empty eyes. She gazes into mirrors all day long, glossy and flat and sleek and silver. Only reflections exist, no longer people, humans. Clay waiting to be molded. Shaped. Refined. Stylized. Taking a reflection of something living, a flat, poor rendition of beauty, and transforming it into yet another image. Empty, empty, eyes gazing at reflections of life, but unable to retain their own.
Shauna
I had brushed the dye through my hair, put 62 different treatments on it, been the one to straighten and curl it in turn.
And, for once, after five years of trying, it looked perfect.
I grinned at my reflection – I should be a stylist.
Die Schere steckte tief im Fleisch. Dies war kein gewöhnlicher Friseur. Dies war Jason Bourne und er hatte eine Mission: Sein wahres Ich zu finden. Auf dem Weg dorthin gab es viele Hälse, die mit Scheren versorgt werden mussten.
To make the most of a moment, I had to style it. Highlight the smile while capturing the mirrored twinkle in those eyes. No girl, you’re much too joyful, naïve even, take those lips and twist them into a half-smirk! Arch that brow like a queen on high, like you know something they don’t! This is the sphere of a womanhood – the monsters will eat you up if they for a moment suspect you hold onto to even a shred of innocence – the last link between you and your childhood. Never let the curtain sink on this last bit of delight. A dream and a lullby, when you’re feeling shy, the ability to turn inwards and know by just knowing.
“I’m a stylist, darling, not a miracle worker,” she said, sniffing pompously as she lifted a lank strand of hair off the younger woman’s shoulder, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Oh come on, Michelle. Don’t act like the girl doesn’t have potential,” Tarya drawled from her place resting against the arm.
Writing exercise. I need a stylist, to be honest. I would love to have someone who tells me what would look good on me and what kind of outfits are flattering. I’d also love to be a stylist. I think I’d be good at it. I also love money.
Alissa
i want apply for mumber card.
wangyufei
my pen is the stylist of my wallet’s hair,
my verbal dispersment is the shiny nails of my girl friends’ purse,
a document with my words, of this I am the stylist, the composer
the almighty creator!
another chance I get, to be the stylist of my future.
There it is, another prospect siting in the chair, awaiting me to curl, to iron, to shape my idea of prosperity.
Financial aid refund will arrive soon, another chance I have to build my financial empire,
again I have the opportunity, the comb in my hand!
This time I will edge the right precision. The correct technique will be styled. The proper care and caution and meticulous carving will be the mainstay of my success!!
Today, I walk in to the barber shop, eager to cut the hair that pesters poverty into my life!
the stylist fixed my hair with ribbons and bows. blue, she said, complimented my blonde hair. i dont know much about colors, so i agreed with her. she had a smile that was too big for her face.
Genevieve
a person who styles other people they are in charge of making you look good weather your going to a red carpet event or a gym they will help you decide what to wear what makeup to put on how to do your hair
isabella
A stylist with high cheekbones and glossy red hair came in the story,causing small gasps from fellow stylists to stare at her happily and in shock. She timed her entrance perfectly as she walked with grace and beauty.
emma
Ugh, I hate them. So full of themselves and beautiful. I am not beautiful and thin and cool like they are. I am not cool at all.
Carolyn
She sat down in front of the mirror, and Erin set about preparing the clips and brushes and pins on the sidetable. She liked the way Erin worked, with a precision and dilligence that was almost surgical – it made her feel in safe hands.
The stylist that Mark usually went to was on vacation, apparently, so he was redirected to one purple-haired Shane, who stood by the corner mirror, reapplying eyeliner. When he saw the customer coming, his face split into a broad, white smile, and he clapped his hands loudly and rapidly like an excited seal.
“I’ve heard so much about you!” he squealed as he directed Mark to a chair. Mark frowned. He’s heard about me? What have I accomplished besides getting my neckbeard occasionally shaved?
Belinda Roddie
“For the last time, Mama, I’m not a hair dresser. I’m a stylist!”
“Stylist? Don’t go puttin’ on airs, Daughter Mine. You’re a hair dresser. Just like your no good Meemaw was.”
Tara felt hot tears running down her face.
“Meemaw was not no good, Mama.” She said in a low voice, eyes averted. “You are.”
She wondered if she could find work to get some cash together until her sister’s funds arrived. Even though she had worked as a hair stylist during college, she knew the only gigs she could get here were as an English teacher or a hostess, or worse, something seedier. She shuddered at the thought of that, thankful that the fact she was on the run made it impossible anyway.
I look in the mirror and I can hardly recognize myself. I came in here to get ready for my date, but now, I look totally different. And I hate it. I rush to the bathroom and wipe my face of all the make-up. It takes a while for it to come off, but I feel much, much better when it’s all clean.
Ugh, again. Okay, I do not really know why the State of Texas requires stylists to be licenced, I have always wanted to ask a stylist about that. I guess a lot of people would be upset if someone would mess up their hair.
Sombody that makes you look good. Not nessecarily you, but something about you. Your house, clothes hair – anything. Feeds your vanity. They can help to bring you up though, and there’s nothing against them. Often, I have very nice chats in a barbers chair.
She promised that she would be an excellent stylist when it came to figuring out all of the costumes for the show. No one was quite sure why a stylist was needed to begin with – the play took place in the current day and age and therefore was in modern dress – but she pushed to say she could make it all work out perfectly as long as they just trusted in her.
she cut hair for a living. She did colors, she did nails, she did everyrthing…she was a stylist!!! And a damn good one at that!! So you know that she could take this career anywhere!!
that one word changed everything. it was the end or the new begining, what was it i cant comprehend. she just said it and it all became so clear why i was like this why she treated me like this. she said adopted
Style is very individual. To style someone else (to be a stylist) is a huge responsibility. You are responsible for figuring out who they are and translating that into a physical medium that they can show the world.
I wasn’t sure what the stylist had in mind when she show case the display at the function the other even. Those who attended the opening left with a bitter taste in their mouth at the sexual overtones that was evident all through the event.
‘I aspire to be a stylist.’
‘Why’
‘So I have the freedom.’
‘Freedom?’
‘Yeah. Most people are too shy to talk to their stylist. They also trust their stylists completely.’
‘So’
‘So, each person can be my own little experiment’ He said with a wicked smile.
There is nothing i can say. Just nothing about her that would be polite. My mum always said that if you don’t have anything nice to say then say nothing. I’m holding my tongue. Biting back the vitriol which is forcing it’s way out through the mechanism of my vocal cords. This one would imagine is how it will always be.
send to your listening input so true
I am such a sly word stylist. IT has now been put to test. Now to wait patiently and find out if my product is being bought or not. What will be said? What will be the feedback?!
All false, nothing but smoke and mirrors and lip gloss and hair product. False images, false faces, empty eyes. She gazes into mirrors all day long, glossy and flat and sleek and silver. A world of reflections, devoid of humans, only clay waiting to be molded. Shaped. Refined. Stylized. Taking a reflection of something living, a flat, poor rendition of beauty, and transforming it into yet another image. Empty, empty, eyes gazing at reflections of life, but unable to retain their own.
All false, nothing but smoke and mirrors and lip gloss and hair product. False images, false faces, empty eyes. She gazes into mirrors all day long, glossy and flat and sleek and silver. Only reflections exist, no longer people, humans. Clay waiting to be molded. Shaped. Refined. Stylized. Taking a reflection of something living, a flat, poor rendition of beauty, and transforming it into yet another image. Empty, empty, eyes gazing at reflections of life, but unable to retain their own.
I had brushed the dye through my hair, put 62 different treatments on it, been the one to straighten and curl it in turn.
And, for once, after five years of trying, it looked perfect.
I grinned at my reflection – I should be a stylist.
Die Schere steckte tief im Fleisch. Dies war kein gewöhnlicher Friseur. Dies war Jason Bourne und er hatte eine Mission: Sein wahres Ich zu finden. Auf dem Weg dorthin gab es viele Hälse, die mit Scheren versorgt werden mussten.
To make the most of a moment, I had to style it. Highlight the smile while capturing the mirrored twinkle in those eyes. No girl, you’re much too joyful, naïve even, take those lips and twist them into a half-smirk! Arch that brow like a queen on high, like you know something they don’t! This is the sphere of a womanhood – the monsters will eat you up if they for a moment suspect you hold onto to even a shred of innocence – the last link between you and your childhood. Never let the curtain sink on this last bit of delight. A dream and a lullby, when you’re feeling shy, the ability to turn inwards and know by just knowing.
“I’m a stylist, darling, not a miracle worker,” she said, sniffing pompously as she lifted a lank strand of hair off the younger woman’s shoulder, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Oh come on, Michelle. Don’t act like the girl doesn’t have potential,” Tarya drawled from her place resting against the arm.
Writing exercise. I need a stylist, to be honest. I would love to have someone who tells me what would look good on me and what kind of outfits are flattering. I’d also love to be a stylist. I think I’d be good at it. I also love money.
i want apply for mumber card.
my pen is the stylist of my wallet’s hair,
my verbal dispersment is the shiny nails of my girl friends’ purse,
a document with my words, of this I am the stylist, the composer
the almighty creator!
another chance I get, to be the stylist of my future.
There it is, another prospect siting in the chair, awaiting me to curl, to iron, to shape my idea of prosperity.
Financial aid refund will arrive soon, another chance I have to build my financial empire,
again I have the opportunity, the comb in my hand!
This time I will edge the right precision. The correct technique will be styled. The proper care and caution and meticulous carving will be the mainstay of my success!!
Today, I walk in to the barber shop, eager to cut the hair that pesters poverty into my life!
the stylist fixed my hair with ribbons and bows. blue, she said, complimented my blonde hair. i dont know much about colors, so i agreed with her. she had a smile that was too big for her face.
a person who styles other people they are in charge of making you look good weather your going to a red carpet event or a gym they will help you decide what to wear what makeup to put on how to do your hair
A stylist with high cheekbones and glossy red hair came in the story,causing small gasps from fellow stylists to stare at her happily and in shock. She timed her entrance perfectly as she walked with grace and beauty.
Ugh, I hate them. So full of themselves and beautiful. I am not beautiful and thin and cool like they are. I am not cool at all.
She sat down in front of the mirror, and Erin set about preparing the clips and brushes and pins on the sidetable. She liked the way Erin worked, with a precision and dilligence that was almost surgical – it made her feel in safe hands.
The stylist that Mark usually went to was on vacation, apparently, so he was redirected to one purple-haired Shane, who stood by the corner mirror, reapplying eyeliner. When he saw the customer coming, his face split into a broad, white smile, and he clapped his hands loudly and rapidly like an excited seal.
“I’ve heard so much about you!” he squealed as he directed Mark to a chair. Mark frowned. He’s heard about me? What have I accomplished besides getting my neckbeard occasionally shaved?
“For the last time, Mama, I’m not a hair dresser. I’m a stylist!”
“Stylist? Don’t go puttin’ on airs, Daughter Mine. You’re a hair dresser. Just like your no good Meemaw was.”
Tara felt hot tears running down her face.
“Meemaw was not no good, Mama.” She said in a low voice, eyes averted. “You are.”
fashion person that makes clothe and make up i think they also write fashion magizines
and they make lots of makeup