June 22nd, 2016
I am not a girly girl. It was a fluke that I ended up in a posh hair salon back in 2002 where I met my husband. I rarely get my hair cut, I didn't have a preferred hairstylist and I used to just get fed up and go to a cheap walk-in place to get my hair trimmed.
When I started dating my husband who is a Vidal Sassoon trained hairstylist, I had no clue just how invested some women get with their stylist. I had no clue how important hair was to these clients. To me, hair is hair, no big deal but to many women, their hair is very serious business. We met clients all the time when we were dating. These women would give me a once over and I knew they were deciding whether or not I deserved to be with Vincent. It felt like having hundreds of mother-in-laws. When I was pregnant with our first daughter, I went into labour on a Saturday (bad day when your husband is a stylist). Four of the eight women who were booked on that Saturday never returned to get their hair done after my husband cancelled their appointment on that Saturday.
Hair salons are notorious for gossip. Clients dish it out in the styling chair. My husband knows who is cheating, bankrupt, alcoholic, abusive and newly unemployed. He hears about women's frustrations with their husbands and applies this knowledge to our relationship (thank you clients!). When we are struggling with one of our daughters, he generally has at least one client who has been through it or works in an office where they deal with this and we get free advice all the time. This has come in handy.
His clients are on a six week rotation and changing these appointments is punishable by death (almost). So, when we go away for ten days every year in March, my husband returns to a packed house, trying to juggle people who are on their schedule while fitting in the clients he missed while we were away.
There is something about the fact that clients are not looking directly at my husband while they talk that leads to deep, revealing discussions. I have often wondered if it is the impact of speaking their truth while facing themselves in the mirror that lends itself to this intensity. Vincent has had women crying about childhood traumas, revealing deep, dark family secrets and admitting to feeling lost and off track in their lives-all in the stylist chair. I often joke that he is more of a therapist than a stylist because he deals with some pretty heavy-duty issues.
When we first met I thought of hair salons as a place of gossip and where women spent money on their looks. It all seemed shallow to me. However, through my husband and his clients, I have learned to see his work differently. The same women come to him every six weeks. Some of them came to see him as children and now they have their own. They connect with other clients, with Vincent and his assistant. They exchange contacts and advice. It is a safe, familiar place where people care about what is happening in your life.
On a deeper note, I have watched women go into his shop hunched and come out tall and proud. When he first takes on a client whose hair has been neglected or misunderstood, he cuts and colours it to complement the woman's skin tone and features. The result is that the client looks younger and sexy. The client stares at herself in the mirror in disbelief. Is this really me? There have been quite a few tears shed after such transformations and several babies conceived.
I am proud of my husband's work. He is competent and compassionate and he has taught me that hairstylists care about their clients, that they make a difference in their lives and that their services can be therapeutic as well as aesthetic. Long live the hairstylist!!
Anne Walsh
www.artnsoul.org
No comments:
Post a Comment