I think most women will agree that there are few things in life as uplifting as having your hair done.  There is a special excitement that goes along with having someone play with your hair for a few hours.  You walk in with a bedhead, greasy mess, and walk out with soft, shiny locks and a new attitude.  That moment when you exit the salon and swing your head left to right in slow motion, at least it’s slow-motion inside your head, is like no other.   I often find myself singing, again inside my head, “I feel pretty, oh so pretty….” as I strut to the car.  Some days there is nothing better.

The intimate time spent sitting in your stylist’s chair, sharing secrets and giggling creates a certain kind of bond.  It is like being in a special cone of silence – just you and your stylist – where no one can hear anything you say and once the cone rises, all the stories go up with it.  Secrets are kept, sly comments are sealed and gossip stays right where it belongs – burned up inside each peroxide filled foil.

However, after all the intimate details of your life have been shared there undoubtedly comes the inevitable day that you decide that it’s time to break up.  This is tragic.  I sometimes think I’d rather have all my teeth pulled out one by one rather than change stylists.  It can be so heartbreaking.  After all, you’ve shared so much together.  You’ve spent so much time in “the chair” spinning around and around staring at each other, making life-altering decisions about all kinds of stuff, including your hair color.

Some people can be very direct about the break-up.  Like:  “Sorry Vidal, I think I need a change.  It’s not you, you’re fantastic.  The best.  It’s me.  I just need to move on.  I need someone who will support me while my bangs grow out.”  And then there are those who slink away.  They just happen to “forget” to make the next appointment.  Those people will worry about the decision for months.  They might hide for a while so the old stylist will think they’ve moved away.  They won’t post any pictures of their great new style on Facebook for fear of being found out.  Honestly, breaking up can be so hard to do.

After the breakup, there is the inevitable first consult you have with your new stylist.  Who, by the way, is in a neighboring town so your old one won’t recognize your car parked for 3 hours in his lot.  This first consultation can be very stressful.   Especially if you are a buffoon like me.  You really don’t know each other yet.  In fact, you’ve probably never met.  You are shy about explaining what you want and why you left your old stylist.  Your discomfort is increased because you feel so small in his oversized chair.  Plus it’s so high off the ground.  He must have pumped the pedal 50 times to get you up there.  You feel guilty about your betrayal so the first half-hour is all about how wonderful the old stylist was but you just needed something “new” and, naturally, you’ve heard about how extraordinary the new stylist is.  Flattery is a large part of this first meeting.  I’ve actually heard myself say “Oh wow, you really are a master at work.  A true artist.”  And “I can always tell when I see someone with one of your cuts.  They are GORGEOUS”.  And then throw up in my mouth.

Recently I had a consultation with a new stylist.  His chair is in a pretty small, sunny and very chic salon.  It is also very quiet.  Only two clients at a time.  No receptionist, each stylist checks you out themselves.  It is a very personal experience.  So, when I walked up the stairs and finally found the door, which by the way was right in front of me but unseen because I was in such a “hyper-first-hair-date” state, here’s what happened.   I walked in looking for something to latch on to, you know so I wouldn’t feel so awkward.  Something like a front desk, which was vacant.  Or a greeter, no one was around.  Or even a sign-in sheet or pretty poster of a great hairstyle, nope.  Everyone, that means both stylists – all 2 of them – and their clients, looked up and watched me turn left, right, look up and down, move backward and forwards.  Finally, head down I meandered over to the couch trying my best to look like I knew where I was.  Having no idea what my highly recommended new stylist looked like, I just sat and waited until someone asked if I had an appointment.  “Oh, just my first consultation.  I’m so excited!” I proudly shouted into the silent room.  There was a short “Oh” followed by the lowering of all 4 heads.

My stylist was working on someone and I was to be scanned for acceptance while her hair was baking.  So I sat, legs crossed, sipping my coffee and trying to look like I belonged there.  I am not kidding when I say that this place is quiet.  There was very hip, soft music playing in the background and, of course, the sound of a blow dryer but that was it.  Maybe some quiet words exchanged but not much.  Finally, my stylist moved his client to another chair and whispered, “Hi.  Come on over.” and I screamed, “Oh, you’re Brian!”  Everyone then watched me trip my way to his chair.  It took me a couple of minutes to put my coffee and bag down, pick them up, move them over, put them down, pick them up, move them over, put them down ….you get it…. until I figured I’d better put my butt down or just leave.

As I sat in his chair I just had to say “I don’t want you to think I’m a stalker or anything but where do you live?  I think you might live in my neighborhood.  Someone told me that a hair dude moved in and I thought maybe it was you”.  Then I rambled on “Your house looks great and I’ve seen your kids in the yard.  They’re so cute.”  Really?  Really Karen?  This is how an adult acts in public?  No.  This is how awkward stalkers act in public.

After I stuttered through an explanation of how I had been trying to change my hair for a couple of years and just couldn’t seem to get what I wanted, he spent half an hour circling my head, moving my hair up, down and around and then testing some colors on a few pieces in the back.  Each time blowing the one newly colored piece dry to see the result.  He was incredible and clearly very thorough.  During this magic-making, the three other people in the room were doing their own thing, barely.  The woman I replaced in the chair was angrily stabbing her phone as she conversed with someone over the internet.  I was surprised she could see her phone screen through her furrowed brow and squinted eyes.  She did not look happy, which naturally made me uncomfortable since it was obviously my fault.  The other stylist was engrossed in the masterpiece she was creating and her client was smiling and shrugging her shoulders as she watched what was going on at the back of my head.  I admit I was a little scared but more than that I was busy wondering if I should offer to pay for his time examining and determining if he could do what I wanted.  Or was this a free consultation.  There was no sign to indicate a price for anything.  I certainly didn’t want to insult him.  I thought maybe I should just offer to pay the other client that I had so clearly pissed off.

In the end, I bought a product, hugged my new stylist, said I’d see him in the “hood” and stumbled my way out.  Turns out he was the best stylist I ever had.  He really knew his trade.  And if I hadn’t subsequently felt the need to once again change it up – I’d still have that beautiful head of hair.  Instead you can find me and my broken bob stumbling my way through a plethora of new hairdressers, trying to find my way back to that perfect chair.