Crap hair, don't care
Despite once working for a magazine dedicated to the subject, my hair has never been my strong point. When I was a toddler, my mum repeatedly cut it short ‘to try and thicken it up a bit’, resulting in many hilarious photos of me looking like a small angry boy. ‘It sort of worked’, she shrugs now. Once I was having coffee with a journo pal who was desperate for case studies for an article she’d been commissioned to write: Five women with great hair share their haircare tips. ‘I’ll help out if you want’ I said, knowing how horrible that fruitless search can be. She laughed her head off at the suggestion. In fact, I think the nicest compliment I’ve ever had for my hair is that it ‘always looks clean’, which is true, because it’s so fine that I have to wash it all the time to avoid looking like Frank off Shameless.
Given my situation, hair-wise, you might think I hate going to the hairdressers, but actually the opposite is true. I bloody love a hair salon, and was sad to read recently that they’re closing in record numbers. The Local Data Company reports that 527 traditional salons closed last year due to several factors, including the pandemic, sky-high energy costs and customers disappearing thanks to the cost-of-living crisis.
I can totally understand why people are scaling back their visits to the hairdressers right now. Although, when friends or colleagues blanch at their £200 colour-and-cut, I do always point out to them that our hair is the one thing we wear every day, so actually it’s a much better investment than spending all that money on your wardrobe.
For me, it’s not just about the results either, but the experience. I’ve often heard others complain about how much they hate talking to their hairdresser - there are even salons now where you can request a ‘no chat’ appointment when booking. But having a good natter is part of the fun! In fact, there’s things I’ve told my colourist Abi that I haven’t told some of my closest friends. Not only is she the best person I’ve ever found for balayage (I’ve followed her round various London salons like a loyal Labrador for the past eight years), but she’s also full of wisdom, fun and excellent TV recommendations. We know the names and (identical) temperaments of each other’s daughters, we’ve talked about work drama, scary diagnoses and relationships, and even though I only see her two or three times a year, that three-hour appointment is always like a warm hug (and yes, I do give her a hug at the end).
Even if I’m sitting in the chair in front of a stylist I’ve never met before, I love to have a chat. Maybe it’s the nosy journalist in me. My favourite situation is when I have a haircut back in Wales, at the local salon I used to go to as a kid. Here, conversations are not confined to the client and stylist, oh no. Instead, two people will be talking about some hot topic or other, another hairdresser will interject, and within five minutes a whole row of women in foils and every single salon staff member is involved in a big, animated discussion. It’s very Welsh, and very bonding, and I love it.
I’d only ever really been to this small town style of salon before I moved to London and got a job at Hairdressers Journal. Then, I was suddenly introduced to a world of high-end hair salons that felt more like luxury hotels – either on the Claridge’s end of the spectrum, with gilt chandeliers and marble counters, or ultra-modern East London salons that doubled up as fairtrade coffee shops. What unites the best of these establishments, however, is not the fancy trimmings, but a particular essence – the feeling of special place where you can ignore your to-do list, emails and family responsibilities just for a few hours, and become the centre of attention. Great salons brim with that kind of care-free energy and excitement you used to have when getting ready for a big Saturday night out, even if in reality you’ll leave that blissful bubble to go back home and do the dishes. And after a great blow-dry, even my Gollum-like strands can look fabulous for a few hours, which proves my theory that hairdressers are not only great friends, therapists and entertainers, but also bona fide magicians.