Don’t you think hairdressers have a special position in a woman’s life? Confidence-wise they must be right up there with the gynaecologist and the psychoanalyst. (And if you do not trust them who can you trust?) A good hairdresser enjoys (or at least pretends to) listening to you. And because snipping away leaves a lot of time to talk, your hairdresser normally gets to know you pretty well. Trouble with the boyfriend, naughty children, latest car crash… You can be sure you will spill it all out in an atmosphere of relaxed grooming.
But I LOST MINE! She was such a lovely girl. I met her when she was still a teenaged apprentice at Tony & Guy and when one of the directors opened his own salon she was the only one he took with him. I followed her like a lamb. I didn’t complain that prices doubled, I took it with a wince that they made fun of me for only coming twice a year, while all the other customers made an appointment directly after having been coiffured.
No, I certainly wasn’t their best customer, but I was faithful, always tipped rather well and tried to be my pleasant self. But when the boss’s boyfriend was rather rude to my daughter I decided I couldn’t go any longer. (Sorry, but being mean to children just isn’t nice!)
So here I am, my last hairdresser was in Berlin, and I just can’t face putting my head into someone else’s hands… Luckily I remembered the recession haircut the Guardian had favoured last year: Bend your head over and cut in a straight line. Result: Perfect layers! Luckily I’m a ponytail girl...*
*without a horse