I went to the hairdressers the other day. I mean "hairdresser" as well, this is definitely not a barber. In my shaven headed days, which are now over indefinitely, I'd go to the local barber either every week or every fortnight. I'd sit in the queue, wait my turn and then step up to the chair. Some small talk about football, the weather or holidays would take place and then I'd part with my £7 or so and stroll off into the sunset.
You're probably thinking that anyone can give a head a grade zero with a set of clippers but actually it's not that easy. There are a few places I had been to that just wouldn't do a good job and I'd find bits of extra long hair sticking out of my bonce in the days after the event. But, let's be honest here, shaving or clippering a head isn't high up on the list of skills that they teach you at hairdressing school and therefore I wasn't overly fussy about where I got it done.
But now I've joined the ranks of you hair wearers (except for my bald patch) I feel it's important to have my hair done by someone I trust, who has taken the trouble to get to know my hair, my likes and dislikes and the way I like to lead my active and energetic lifestyle. It's nothing to so with the small army of young and sexy semi naked girls that work in the salon and strut around the place with clothes that leave nothing to the imagination.
As I sat there last week I looked around at all that was taking place in the vicinity. I looked at all the people in the hairdresser's establishment and chuckled inside my head. Immediately opposite me was a female hairdresser who's always there, perhaps because she works there. She, like most of the people who work there, is an intriguing looking person. At first glance they appear to be well up there on the sexy and attractive scale. But then, when you look a bit more, they're all a touch on the ropey side.
It's as if all these hairdressers are failed models. They dress like models, everything they wear is from a page out of Vogue or Roy of the Rovers or whatever fashion mag they read. I can picture the getting ready in the morning situation in the average hairdresser's house. In the case of drumming bloggers who run a small company the getting ready time can be as little as ten minutes from being in bed to leaving the house. That incorporates a shower, a shave and all the teeth stuff. Of course if a poo is required then I have to add a lot more time into the equation, but a good crap just can't be hurried.
But, for the average hairdresser it must be total nightmare in the mornings. They must spend more time in getting ready than just about any other tradesperson. The thought and effort that is clearly put in deserves recognition and a pat on the back, but the fact is that they're nearly all ugly people. I think it's a tangent from Darwin's theory of evolution and the whole survival of the fittest concept, I'll ask her or maybe she'll explain. But these hairdressers are all wannabe models, with the clothes, the attitude and the vanity, just without the looks.
Then there's the men. The men who are barbers are as manly as one can imagine aren't they? They cut hair, talk about football and women and ooze hydrocortisone, or is it testosterone? Either way they're real men. However, the "hairdressing" men are a different breed. First they've got the walk going on, the mincing one where they look as if they're clutching something between the old cheeks. Then they've got the carefully groomed look with just the right amount of hair product to make their hair look dishevelled and messy, as if they've just got out of bed. I care not whether they are gay or straight but I think it's fair to say that most of them are camper than a field full of tents with an air stewards convention going on.
Is it worth paying the extra that a salon trip costs? No way, not if you judge it by the quality of the haircut alone. But, for the entertainment value it's a bargain. So much to look at, so much to take in and such good fun. I'd thoroughly recommend it.