What an Honor, a Privilege, and How Downright Juicy it Was to Cut Hair

Don’t It Always Seem To Go
That you don’t know what you’ve got
Til its gone – Joni Mitchell

My career as a hairdresser began in 1988 and ended in 2011 when I retired and moved to New York to begin a new life with the man who was to become my husband. I woke up every morning during those 23 years in an existential panic that I was underachieving, not living up to my potential, that I was wasting my college degree. Those first thoughts of the morning, particularly after I turned fifty, held a sense of despair, and guilt too that all I had done with my life was stand behind a chair and do hair.  I felt like a Lichtenstein comic strip panel, my head on the pillow, a few tears beginning to spill from my eyes, the thought bubble exclaiming a weepy “I forgot to have a life . . .”

Then, I would get up, go to work, stand behind that chair and love every minute of every day.

Working as a hairdresser, especially if you have your own business as I did for most of my career, is a little like throwing a casual party every day. I would get to my studio and review my schedule as I had the night before to see again who was coming in. To prepare, I would think about each person and mentally toss around some options and ideas for what I thought they should do with their hair pending, of course, a consultation when they were actually sitting in front of me.  Looking at the client list for the day revved my creativity up. Not only did I enjoy the people themselves, but the prospect of doing their hair was like anticipating a succession of really fun art projects. It felt like play. Sometimes when I applied color to a client and worked the thick color product through to the ends, I was reminded of patting mud into tin plates as a kid to make pretend pies after a rain had drenched our back yard. Cutting was something I had enjoyed in kindergarten and styling was three dimensional sculpting with fiber.

After I had checked my schedule, I would lay out my tools, lining them up neatly on a clean towel at my station. First, my favorite shears – a brand called Nic that at $700, had been a bargain compared to some of the other precision shears I had owned. Next to my Nics lay my straight razor with a guard, then thinning shears, holding-clips and a comb from the big jar of Barbacide on my back bar. My various brushes, cleaned by my assistant in between each client, rested in my top drawer next to two flat irons which I used a lot and a curling iron which I rarely used. I refilled and organized my styling products – primer, various gels and crèmes,  finishing products and hairsprays.  My assistant would arrive to make the coffee, fold and put away towels, capes and gowns, refill shampoos and conditioners on the back bar and make foils for highlighting. I’d pull index cards that had color formulas for that day’s clients and finally, after checking my own hair and make-up, and counting the cash I kept to make change with, I’d select great music to play throughout the day.

Everything, including me, was set to go. Flooded with morning light, ready and waiting for my first client, my studio held for me an air of quiet expectancy, a charged current of possibility that energized me. Then the party started. The party that was my working day went full force almost non-stop until the last client left and we cleaned up, often 10 hours later.

A busy day behind the chair is fun. I quickly got into a creative groove, a flow of time out of time, my client and I on an island of reflection both figuratively and literally in my mirror.  There was good music, laughter, heart-to-heart conversations, light banter and juicy information. My clients came, greeted me with smiles and often hugs. In what other work environment do you get to meet with 10 – 15 people a day who are genuinely happy, often actually excited to see you? I was trusted for my taste, my creativity, my expertise. I was sought after, applauded, complimented and loved. My artistry and being my authentic self added happiness to other people’s lives. How great is that? What an honor, a privilege, and how downright juicy to know so many people so well and to have work that felt like play. I am grateful to have had what I did. I wish I could have appreciated it then as much as I do now that it’s all over.