I’m already getting hot under the collar just thinking about this blog/rant. I know it’s an odd one as some women actually pay for this every week and look on it as a treat, some ‘me’ time! (this subject matter is probably aimed more towards the fairer sex) Now, before your minds start wandering in the wrong direction – I’m referring to a trip to the hairdressers. I hate it. I really do. It fills me with dread. I would rather get ripped off at the dentist than go to the hairdressers (If you read my last post, you’ll know what I mean and if you didn’t – then catch up!) Right from the moment I have to make the appointment, to the point I put on my coat and slink out the door, I am crippled with loathing and impure thoughts, vowing never to return. My brain has shriveled up to a ‘birdseye’ pea size and I’ve got the migraine of the century. If they could read my thoughts, I’m sure I’d go straight on to the ‘don’t ever let her cross the threshold again’ list.
Over the years, I’ve lost count of the salons I’ve visited and in all my years of searching, I found one, YES, ONE that didn’t leave me with the aforementioned symptoms and I loved, YES, LOVED what she did with my hair, a true expert and a lovely person too – bonus. I feel I should mention the salon here, am I allowed? No point, it’s in another country!!! So until I can grace this particular salon again, I am left seeking out new establishments every time my hair needs attention. That time is fast approaching, and the fear is real…Reasons for putting hairdressers into room 101
- Incessant chatter
- Drenched neck/clothes/makeup
- The full SP on the stylists latest drama with ex-husbands, mothers boyfriends tattoo artist
- Group discussions on personal lives with complete strangers
- Group comments on your hair
- Shamed into buying products (sometimes)
- Time spent that can never be retrieved
- Ability to make you question your worthiness at having them style your tresses
The last place I visited was very local and well established with a sleek enough website and as I hadn’t been there before, decided to give it a shot. I took my youngest son with me, not only because I had no other option, but I thought, if they see I have a child with me, they might speed up the process. How wrong was I? Four hours later (I had half head highlights and a trim – NOT restyle) I’m not joking, I was one of two clients in the salon, the other was a lady in a mobility scooter and her hair was shorter than a gerbil, so not much time needed there. My poor son had exhausted every game on his Nintendo, finished his David Walliams’ book, consumed the snacks and drinks I had brought and was making ‘hurry the hell up’eyes at me the whole time I was sat in the chair of doom. The hairdresser was a very soft spoken ‘mature’ male, the owner in fact. One shouldn’t make judgement’s, but immediately I thought ‘what does a middle aged man know about hair?’ and then of course I remembered all the greats and relaxed a little, only a little mind you, as I was waiting for him to be all arms waving, long scarves, cerise trousers and paisley shirts, with better manicured nails than myself. But no, he was just a ‘normal’ jeans and jumper type and the arms stayed firmly put except to wield his scissors. I realise I’m stereotyping but can you blame me? He was quite softly spoken, a nice change from the ‘singsong’ drivel I’d become accustomed to, but I had trouble hearing him as he chatted away over my head about God knows what, while Capital radio thumped out the hits in the background. As is the norm for me, halfway through the ordeal, I start to get agitated, its literally written all over my face, I’ve been here too long, I need to get this over with but how can I speed up the process without pretending I’ve left the oven on or faint? Eventually the foils are removed and he starts to cut and I literally beg him to just give it a trim, which he does and then he gets out the hairdryer. I give specific instructions on how I have my hair styled, its nothing special but it’s my way. Anyhooo, he proceeds to do the worst blowdry/style I have EVER seen. I had to stop him, so I did. I repeated my preference for styling and off he goes again and carries on as if I hadn’t spoken! I stopped him again and at this point, I’m mortified, my son is mortified and all the while I’m wondering why I don’t just let him do whatever the hell he likes so I can GO. But no, I stop him a third time and that’s where we leave it. Our short-term relationship has reached the point of no return. I paid my very hefty bill (since when has the hourly rate for a hairdresser matched that of a neurosurgeon?) and left him to lock up his salon. I’m sure he silently offered up a prayer of thanks at my departure. The whole process took over FOUR hours and I had spent alot of money and as per, was unhappy with the end result.
Another place locally I won’t be frequenting is a fairly popular spot with rave reviews, so initially I thought, this is it! I found a home for my hair. I put off making an appointment for as long as possible to try and hold on to that lovely feeling of hope. But again, no, it was not to be. I think I immediately ruffled the stylists feathers by taking in a photo of exactly the style I wanted. I have alot of hair and its quite long, lots to work with – you would think, but the end result was NOTHING like the photo.(I knew she couldn’t morph me into Reese Witherspoon but I was at least expecting my hair to replicate the hair in the photograph of Reese looking gorgeous on some fancy red carpet somewhere) I don’t think she (the stylist, not Reese) was sorry to see the back of me, as I did mention, while parting with my credit card again, that while it was okay, it wasn’t what I had in mind nor did it look anything like the photo… This particular salon think’s it’s the bees knees but no amount of vintage gilt stained mirrors and fancy shapes on the coffee froth is going to drown out the smack of air-kissing or the constant yakking of the staff about their private life to anyone who will listen. Another Salon bites the dust. My quest continues and I fear I now have to move further afield, but I know none of them will match up to the standard of my affair abroad, so it’s with a heavy heart that I click on Google and start my search again.
If this gets worse, am I destined to end up resembling a yeti? Anyone else have hairdresser phobia (Is there a medical term for this I wonder?) Why is it so hard to find a hairdresser who ticks the box ? I think I might pop into my local hairdressing academy and drop off some etiquette suggestions – Just Sayin’