Chez le coiffeur

Another rite of passage.  Today, having been feeling increasingly unkempt for a week or so, I decided to go to the hairdresser.  Or at least to make an appointment.

For once my anxiety was not so much how to express my needs – I’m getting better at that.  Anyway, all hairdressers speak a universal language involving signs, hand movements and facial expressions.  Check it out next time you go.  No, this time my anxiety was about WHICH hairdresser to go to.

French women my age, at least those who bother at all, come in two varieties.  Either they are competing with the kids with long multi-coloured waves flowing over their shoulders, or they are coiffed to within an inch of their lives with perfect soft blow-waved bobs. Those who don’t bother have short, business-like cuts and bad dye jobs.  None of these things are appealing to me.  You have seen my hair if you read my original blog.  It is shortish, whitish and curlyish.

Having thought about it, and reaching no conclusion, I assumed there must be a good and trend conscious hair dresser somewhere in town, it was just a matter of finding them.  So I mucked about all morning, set off as late as possible, and started checking out salons.  There are plenty of them, starting with the one at the end of my street (very old fashioned, one man proprietor), and the four in Rue d’italia.

Should I go to the one that said it was part of a Paris chain and staff spoke English?  Well, I might have.  But the girls working there did not look that stylish, and they were busy.  What about the one with the super-trendy looking stylists who were all in Halloween costume last week?  They were super-busy, and all so young!  The other two looked friendly, but so suburban …

Better to head right into Centre Ville I thought, so I did.  I wandered around for an hour or so, passing dozens of salons – some too small, some too busy, some not sleek enough – all with some indefinable discouraging element.  Then I remembered I had seen a Tony & Guy somewhere, and the Auckland version of that franchise was where I met my current (home town) stylist.  I know all about the training the staff get, so figured that would be fine.  But where was it?  Google to the rescue.  It was, naturally, at the other end of town, but I plodded on till I found it.

But … it is a huge salon by Aix standards.  I peered through the window.  There was one stylist and one customer and a sea of empty seats.  I remembered it had been equally quiet the day I first passed it.  Now the one thing you do not want to do is trust your hair to a salon that no one else wants to go to.  So more aimless wandering.  I was thinking that I would just go home and have a little lie down.

To get home, as I do almost every day, I took a turn down Cours Mirabeau, still keeping my eye out for other salons.  Then I spotted her.  The woman in the mink coat, looking, from a distance, like a refugee from the Cannes film festival.  It was not really cold enough for a fur coat, and to illustrate the fact she was wearing high heeled strappy sandals, and teetering along only a little painfully I thought.  She was one of those with the multi-coloured flowing locks.    I was intrigued, and by that stage had decided to check out one last salon.

Creatoria is the biggest, fanciest, and most expensive beauty and hair salon in Aix.  It sits between two banks in the centre of the main drag, and is one of those places you hesitate to enter unless very well dressed and carrying a designer hand bag.  I was not.  But, the  woman in the mink coat disappeared through its doors, and of course I had to follow.  Some of you will not be surprised to read that.

As I entered, the mink coat, who had been conferring with the receptionist, turned to leave. OMG, she had wrinkles, lots and lots of wrinkles.  Beautifully made up, impeccably and glamorously dressed, but older than me and definitely showing it.  Oh dear, but by then I was inside, and the charming man at the door had me under his spell.

Madame wanted a hair cut and blow-dry (coupe et coiff), maintenant?, mais bien sûr.  When being charmed by an overwhelming  Frenchman, what does price matter?  And really, it was worth it!

I was seated and robed.  Two charming French men, only one of which was gay, came to undertake my “consultation”.  They ran their fingers through my hair, exclaimed over its beauty (yes, I know, but it was a very good performance), and explained that they were going to do some tests on my hair to determine what treatments it would require during the shampoo stage.  Testing bottles and instruments emerged.  The degree of sebrum on my scalp was tested – a little dry apparently.  A special shampoo and conditioner was recommended.  I was tested for signs of dandruff – none, très bien.

Then we had a discussion about style and colour.  It was agreed that no colour was required.  A personal history of my hair and styling habits was taken.  We agreed the look should remain casual, the length on top was to stay, and that some shaping and tidying up around the sides and back would be undertaken.  Then Jean-Luc lead me to the wash basin, where he personally lifted and placed my feet on a foot rest before proceeding to wash and treat my hair, massage my scalp, and promise me ‘shine’ to die for.  At one stage he got distracted by an errant hair in my brows, rushed off to get the tweezers, and gave me an impromptu eyebrow shape up.

When finished he wrapped my head up in the sort of turban you see in old movies but can never replicate. Here is a picture of Jean-Luc and I when we got to that point.

Then I was led back to my seat in front of the mirror for Jean-Luc to cut my hair, but I was not allowed to sit down.  No, precision cutting, and it really was, required that I stand so that the line of my hair would be perfect.  Then he went to work, and I have to say the cut and attention to detail was superb.  I was allowed to sit for the blow dry, which is uncharacteristically straight.  I could have stopped him, but it is kind of fun to be so groomed, and the curl will be back at the first wash.  Here is the result.

Yes, it did cost an arm and a leg.  Tip – if offered mousse or hairspray, say no – you pay extra for everything.  And of course I had to tip Jean-Luc.  But was it worth it?  You bet.  Everyone in the salon was SO NICE.  The surroundings, the care and the treatment was fabulous.  The cut was top notch. And the brow shape was free!  Conclusion – it was worth it for the experience that made me smile from the minute I arrived till the minute I left.

Now all I need is a mink coat and a pair of strappy sandals and I will be all set.