I think I’ve cracked it. It’s only taken me 30 years but I’m absolutely, definitely, completely (most-likely) going to return to the hairdresser I visited yesterday for a trim. I was doing some shopping in town whilst Leila was on her first-ever play date *bites knuckles* and I dared myself to walk into the first hair salon I saw for a cut (I do shit like this to myself all the time – I think it’s a touch of OCD).
I did have some exceptions to that rule: no salons with the word “cuts” and “super” in the name, no salons with more children than adults in the chairs, and no salons which filled their windows with the products they would be blatantly hard-selling me thirty minutes later.
The first salon to cross my path was Trevor Mitchell on East Street. From the outside, I wasn’t convinced, it was like the 1970s had met with a 1990s revival and gotten lost on the way to the nought-ies. The inside wasn’t a whole lot better and I don’t like the name Trevor. Still, I can’t deny that I wasn’t tempted by the offer of a £25.50 haircut on the price list. I mean, I didn’t want anything too drastic… just a (good) trim and a fringe-reshape. I shuddered at the thought of all the different ways the fringe-reshape could go horribly wrong. I stepped inside anyway.
There isn’t much in the way of luxury going on at Trev’s place. There are no cups of tea on offer and the dayglo gowns felt and looked like something I’d put on Leila to protect her from a Play-Doh attack. Does anyone else get anxious about which way round you’re going to be asked to wear the gown? Posh salons have ones that you put on like a coat and the rest make you wear them like a straight jacket right?
I’m not a big talker when someone is holding a pair of scissors centimetres from my ear, mostly because I’m fairly socially-retarded and tend to giggle inappropriately. Thankfully, my stylist Kylie wasn’t much of a talker either – except for where it mattered. I gave her free reign to chop off what she needed to restore health, tame the over-processing and neaten everything up. Before she started cutting, she showed me the various lengths of my old layers and reassured me that she would leave it well-beyond the annoying ‘growing out’ length.
Admittedly, a basic trim isn’t the easiest thing in the world to mess up… but the scary bit was still to come. The fringe.
Long story short, she cut it perfectly and not only that but she had my hair foibles sussed within seconds of looking at me. Dodgy lick on one side of fringe = don’t touch it until it’s dried. I went to one hairdresser in January who literally snipped in a straight line across my wet fringe… I had a puffy sticky up bit for weeks. Traumatic. She suggested that the outer edges needed more blending and by this time, I trusted her. She also thinned the hair at the edges and boy, that’s made a huge difference as to how it sits against my forehead! Before I left, she gave me some tips on fading old colour and apparently Vosene works better than Head & Shoulders for lifting dark dye!
I hadn’t had a good, full haircut since I first got my fringe cut in last year and had only found one salon in Soho (Studio12) who had trimmed my fringe to my liking. A bit of shine spray and £25.50 (+ tip) later and I’m walking somewhat taller with my noo doo.
Cheers Trev! Oh and just for giggles, Trevor Mitchell (the man behind the local salon chain) introduced Kevin Keegan to his infamous perm in the 80s! I think I had a lucky escape!
Have you had a happy haircut recently?
