Saturday, October 4, 2008


I've bloody done it again. I've lost another hairdresser.

I do seem to go through them pretty quickly but this one I'm a bit sad about.

Okay, so, if I think about it she wasn't quite as good as the one who owned a shop right below my old apartment. He was great - I've still yet to have a blow-dry that equalled his. But could he shut the fuck up? He could not. Reading magazines over my shoulder to comment queenily on EVERTHING, long, long stories about events involving people I'd never met, random characters who wandered in and out of these ridiculous plots. Outrageous. Friends know or could guess how I feel about this kind of chit chat: for me half the pleasure of having my hair cut is the pleasure of indulgence, including silence. So he had to go.

This latest one didn't have head massages to touch the dudes at Toni and Guy. Holy shit - what are the feeding those little emo waifs to give them fingers of steel? I don't know, maybe it's something in the water. Anyway I had no complaints with the haircut either - efficient and pretty. And they gave me champagne. But once you've burst into tears two minutes into a haircut and poured out recent awful events there's only one way to go: out of there. So Toni and Guy were out, en masse.

Half the reason the loss of this latest one saddens me so is that she was none of the above: she knew how to cut hair in complete silence, bless her. No questions. No commentary. yes, there was a woman who knew how to ignore and be ignored. Aw shit I'm, getting all sniffly just thinking about it.

Only problem is that she either hates me or she's a really shitty hairdresser.

Those two options are the only solutions to the question of why my hair currently looks like I've spent six months inside in a wind tunnel. Seriously, I appear to have lost a three hour fight with a racoon. The whole thing measures two feet wide.

"I think I'll keep the natural wave in it," I said. "There's no need to straighten it."

"Right," she said. "I can play up the wave a bit if you like."

"Um, sure." That's me.

Fifteen minutes later I have tears in my eyes from having a)been burnt by some kind of curling iron device b)the sight of my reflection in the mirror c)having had my entire head of hair pulled out strand by strand, or so I assume based on my scalp sensations. Either I've misjudged this whole 'we're both happy with silence' thing and she thinks I'm a biatch or she's getting her styling tips from Pretty in Pink. Either way... sorry lady, it's not going to work out. But it's been one hell of a ride.


Rebecca said...

Kate, you're missing the point here - where are the photos?

I always feel slightly guilty that I'm not chatting away like the lady and hairdresser next to me (are they friends or something?) but then I remember I'm paying the money here and if I choose to, I will catch up on Grazia in stony silence, thank you very much.

my name is kate said...

Couldn't agree more. The chatty very queeny one used to read over my shoulder and make comments of the "ohmiGOD what was she THINKing, ri-iiight?" variety. He could cut a mean strand but I've never met his equal in the fucking annoying stakes.

And tragically my camera was um... burned. In the great fire of... 2008.

CB One said...

yeah - we need some pics. Stat!

You could try my guy - he'll shut the fuck up if you tell him from the get go. Maybe.

observer said...

I feel your pain. Did I ever tell you about the hairdresser who's biggest lament about his life was not having an Iphone? Oh and that time I had to go back a second time because I just couldn't wander around looking like I'd cut my hair myself.

my name is kate said...

I once GOT a haircut then went home and cut it ALL off because I hated it. I think there were bald spots later on.