The $30,000 Pyramid

"So, what do you love about your hair?  What don't you like about it?  And when did you last get your haircut?"  I asked to begin the consultation with Leslie, a new client. Through Squaw Valley Writer's Conference in "07, I met a group of women writer's from the Bay Area.  Some of us have remained in contact, some have read at the readings I've held at the salon, and a few have even become clients.  One of the writer's that I had become a client, referred her friend Leslie.  Her curly hair was lovely, and way over due for a cut.  The longest layer on top reached to about her chin, sagging her beautiful face down "I'm one of those annoying clients, who wants to keep some length, but feel it's too heavy up here,"  she replied, pulling at her hair on top.  "I just got it cut six weeks ago.  That isn't very long is it?"

"No, it isn't, not for curly hair." 

"I feel like always leave with the same haircut."

"What attitude do you want your hair to have?"

"Ooh, that is a good question.  I've never been asked that.  Hmm.  Well, what do you think I have?"

"Long hair."

"Yeah, I feel like I look like a hippie, but without the hippie."

"Do you want to move into something a little more edgy?"

"What does that mean?"

"Edgy means to me a stronger shape."

"What does that look like?"

"Okay well, let me get my hands in here.  I think if you brought the length up to shoulder length, then took this hair away from your face a bit, slightly off center, then layered out this top, we'd be getting somewhere. I want to round out it out, so that you don't have a pyramid shape, and I'll do some dry cutting."

"Sounds, good.  Yeah, I've had the $30,000 pyramid quite often."

"You are funny." 

"Well, you come up with all kinds of names when you've had this kind of hair for a long time."

She removed her glasses, which was as slight discomfort, because she could not say anything. And so we cut, and cut and cut.  I asked at one point I asked if she would like to put the glasses back on.  No, she said, she was enjoying not seeing.  Then product instruction, then I twisted the hair and diffused.  Her hair looked fabulous.  Bouncy, full, sassy.   

I unwrapped her, she reached for her glasses, and as we spun the chair around, she exclaimed, "Oh wow.  I love it." She remained in the chair a bit, wanting to take in her image a bit.  We laughed about her looking for reflective surfaces to gaze in, on her way home.  We agreed it was a transformation.

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http://search.creativecommons.org/Neil Carey's photostream

A Salon

Today is the day.  I have gathered some writers for an evening of wine, cheese and crackers, and words, in the salon where I work.  It's happening.  I can't believe it.  I am moved by the amount of support I have in my life, and a lot of that support is from my clients.  How can I thank them?   How can I let them know that without them, I don't know where I would be?  Their love and loyalty has helped to heal a broken soul.  I have come out the other side, resilient, passionate, and a great deal more self-confident. Self-confident enough, that I will share my pages with them, and let them see what goes on this heart of mine.  I will share my short comings, my thoughts about standing behind the chair, my feelings as I am doing so.  I hope for their hearts to be touched by my story, to tap into the universal story.

What compels me to do these things.   I'm not sure.  But I do know it is what I am here to do.  To create a salon has been one of my deepest desires for a very long time.  And to realize my writing life does not have to be seperate from hair, seems the ultimate synthesesis.  I don't have to run from hair to find myself.

Thank you to my loyal partner, friends, clients, coworkers, and SGI community.

Yesterday

Pressure mounts as I try to meet writing deadlines.  My current article seems more difficult to write than others.  Being with clients is a great counter point to writing.  Working with my hands, feeling the hair, studying hairlines, discerning differences between tones in the hair.  My fingers move, as if it's all been mapped out before.  They know just what to do.

Each client is so different.  My last one yesterday is a bit quirky, funny and down to earth.  We laughed about the round brush that felt tortuous to her the first time she sat in my chair.   She kept pulling away, really, as if I was pulling hair right out of her head.   As I was drying her hair yesterday, she said, "Are you sure that is not that brush?" 

I giggled, "No, it's not."  I pulled every brush out of my box, and sure enough, we spotted the bad brush.  Her eyes grew to the size of golf balls, "That's it!"  She shrieked. 

"I knew you would recognize it."  She is a photographer.  In fact, we are going to trade a headshot of myself for the website and my blog (I dislike the current one), for her haircut and color yesterday. 

She said, "Why don't we take a picture of the brush, in different settings."  So, don't be surprised if you see a series of photos posted soon, entitled, "The Hair Brush." 

I was at a party the other night.  It was the birthday of a fellow writer's husband.  Our other fellow writer was there and is currently going through chemo.  She has breast cancer.  She is a lovely woman to talk to, and a talented writer.  With our backs leaned against the wall, she said, "Now that I've lost my hair, I find myself staring at people and imagining what they would look like bald."  Hair is one of the most definitive features on our body, and if we didn't have it, how vulnerable is that?

Nothing Changes

Louise became a client 25 years ago.  The hairstyles we've tried have varied little; a bob, a layered bob, a bob with fringe, maybe once or twice, a shorter cut with no weight line.  She colors her hair a bright bright orange, herself, and never seems to color it before she sees me.  There are always white roots to greet me, with very faded color on the ends.  Her hair is dry, yet not dry enough in her book since she insists on never conditioning her hair.  And this is the way it goes, nothing  changes and it's a slow death. A delightful slow death.  We have a rapport that has developed over the years--I could distinguish her laugh in a dark theatre, I know certain stories, because I've heard them more than once, as I am sure I have repeated a few of my own.  We have talked about life, and we have cried about love, and she is an unrealized songwriter.

She is loyal--I wonder why sometimes.  I don't suggest change often, I haven't suggested she come in and let me color her hair, and she is certainly one of the few people I don't talk to about product, even though I firmly believe her hair would look and feel like a million bucks.

What prevents me from shaking things up with her?  I suggest change 95% of the time with other clients, but with her I don't.  Some of life's challenges have forced us to grow, so maybe it is enough to wear mediocre hair, and allow mediocre hair be worn.  Besides, it is a relief to not always have to be on, and I see it as growth to just let her hair be simple.  We have an unspoken agreement, for now.