Creativity

I had a dream, a most luscious dream.  Giselle and I were at her friends house.  The friend had wild fuscia and purple, frizzy hair, that pushed out from her scalp about four inches, then dropped into some length.  She wore flowing layers of similar colors to her hair. She appeared to be part of the surroundings, as the art, the walls, the furniture were all about color.  Not a square inch of the house was free of stuff.  Collections of various artists lined table tops and bookshelves. Abstract paintings in vivid reds,blues and yellows draped the walls. The back door was open to the backyard, and I don't remember lots of windows, but her home shone in a warm light.  Everything looked yummy.

There were even little plates of food in every corner. Pomegranate this and plum that, stacked on top of thin toasts, and sprinkled with cheese. The friend prepared more heaping plates of delectable treats and handed them to us to place on the table in the living room.  She prepared a feast for us. I wanted to taste everything,to touch everything, to let my eyes rest on every possible corner of this scene.  I felt at home.

Giselle and her friend have mastered creativity.  They are in touch with their own voice and their own expression of it, then they offer it to the world.  There is huge risk in the offering.  What if the world doesn't accept it.  But my mind couldn't even go there.  As I wiped the sleepers from my eyes come morning time, I realized that I am after my own expression, and be able to offer it to the world. 

This is where perhaps coming up with my own collections and photographing them might come in.  Editorial work interests me, and I've studied it a bit.  I've got to work on the stories behind the shots first.  I'm going to go get some make up training in February.  I'm inspired.

Spicing Things Up

 As a hairstylist, it is effortless to become lazy,negative, and uninspired.  Some of my styling habits are lazy, or I stop encouraging some clients to change, or I take the easy way out when under pressure--all these nowheresville tactics are called survival, but leave me empty.  I tell you, there is nothing more inspiring than participating in a professional development workshop to juice things up. I participated in a Creative Color class in San Francisco at The Studio.  Teri Dougherty taught 13 of us many creative color techniques.  Not only did I learn many useful techniques that I brought immediately into the salon, but Teri is a lovely person, with a passion for her craft, teaching, and her business, and it shows.  She has managed to manifest a life where she creates her own patterns of color, and cutting and gives that to the world.  I respect and admire the focus and attention to execute these ideas into a reality. 

I walked into the salon yesterday a bit more cocky, self-assured, and like I brought something to the table.  That something was an energy, a command with the hair, a fearlessness.  Two newish clients dawned vibrant colors, such as reds, and coppers, and blondes as they left the salon.  The patterning was such that you couldn't tell where the layout started and where it finished.  The pieces looked more like fettuccine, rather than spaghetti bits, it all comes back to food. 

Not only did I have a great time, I felt invigorated and I'm looking at Broccolini in a whole new way, thinking, "Hmmm...how can I translate this to hair color?" 

Thanks Teri. 

Check out her work!  www.teridougherty.com

Walking on Clouds

Last week, Giselle and I bought new shoes.  She brought me to Z-Coils in Fairfield. For months now, she's been talking about how I am going to love Compton, the owner of the store.  "Really?"  I said.  As we are driving there last Saturday after work, we talked and talked, relishing in being with each other outside the salon, and of course Compton. So we hurried in, and all I see are walls of neutral colored shoes, that at first site look like nurses shoes, or shoes that a really old person might wear.  Or worse yet, like some of the older women in Berkeley who've taken to wearing baggy clothes and flat, thick soled shoes.  I didn't know how I would break it to Giselle, but I couldn't imagine how I would, or could wear those shoes. 

I was timid in trying on any of them at first.  I watched Giselle try on a pair from the stack he had saved for her.  First the brown pair, and she oohed and ahhed, walking around the store.  Then the blue pair, again oohing and ahhing.  Both pairs have a visible thick coil you can see under the heel, wild and weird.

"Okay."  So, I tried the blue ones...the comfort went beyond any pair of shoes I have ever tried on before.  I didn't care for that pair, so I slipped on a couple more pairs.  Then, when I tried on the boot, I knew I'd be taking those with me. The coil is hidden in this pair, I've worn them everyday since purchasing them.  They are like walking on clouds.  They are odd looking, but odd in a sort of funky way.  They are not cheap, but I can see I will wear these as long as I am standing behind the chair. Every hairdresser should check them out, or anybody who stands.

I await the pair of Mary Janes that he is dying red for me. Oh yeah, I loved Compton.  He was the most helpful shoe guy I've ever met, and he is the kindest man.

Check it out! www.zcoil.com

Mirror-Mirror

I work in front of a mirror 24-4, it used to be 24-5 or 6.  It is everything but normal to be in front of the mirror this much.  In fact, I know I am a different person because of it. My mother used to harp on me because I tended to my personal grooming before doing chores.  She much preferred the sight of me working than playing.  I didn't see much beauty in my immediate environment-- I starved for my parents attention and emotional connection.   So I used my garments and my hair as a way to express some beauty, not really knowing what I was doing.  The act of beautfying myself emerged from a desperate feeling, and yet a place so deep. 

I came to know beauty early as a regime.  You bathe, you apply makeup, you put a lot of attention to what you wear.  I watched my four older sisters, who needed and competed for daddy's attention, it was all about adorning themselves.  We all left the house one way, and around the corner, we shortened the hemline of our skirts.

Even so, I disliked what the mirror reflected back to me, in fact, I hated what I saw.  Somehow, I knew if I faced into it though, a transformation could occur, therein lay a lifetime of work in dealing with the ego.  And even though I cut the hair of the neighborhood kids, and my own at age 11, I had no suspicion that my line of work would involve thousands of hours standing in front of the mirror and helping others make contact with the their own inner beauty.

I turn away often to what I see, I don't want to see.  And when I can look long enough, I don't know who it is I see, and I don't want anyone else to see me.  Each time feels different.  Already this feels like too much focus on the subject.  At some point you've got let it go.

What would it be like to have no mirrors?  

Power of Beauty

More on the subject of women's power coming from within.  A woman's beauty and power transcend age, wrinkles, and body weight. I hurt inside when a client pulls the skin back on her neck as I am showing her the silhouette of her haircut in the mirror.  And then, once we spin her back around, we laugh with a tinge of discomfort, she hands me back the hand mirror and proceeds to lift the skin on her forehead up.  This intimate, temporary, indulgent fantasy leaves me in a curious state of mind.

What will the wrinkle free face give her, besides a momentary sense of time standing still, or a delusion that she is indeed younger and not aging?  Will people treat her differently?  Is the dissatisfaction with the way she looks as an aging woman really only skin deep, gone the minute she goes under the knife?  It makes me shiver in my own skin.

What would it be like to have her take the mirror and not succomb to this cultures perverse pressure to be something we are not, to simply say, "I look and feel fabulous."

I wish it for us all.

Hair Flying

I've got twenty minutes to write.   Well, hum, I could write about salon politics, which seems to be prevalent.  Or I could write about a new client I had last week.  Luscious, thick, curly hair.  Lovely personality--witty, smart, creative and pretty, in a non-traditional way.  Her look was in-congruent with what seemed to be an alternative profession by dressing conservatively. Her voluminous hair sat heavy on her head, dragging down her already long face.  She was open and clear she wanted to keep length, so we did.  We layered, textured, channeled and lifted her hair, which took time.  A slight a-line, layered bob was the desired shape. 

To see her hair come to life by releasing it's swirls and arcs, and hair flying, an onlooker would think it was a well-thought-out choreographed dance piece.  Her hair came to life as we partnered in the dance.  We I handed her the mirror to look at the profile, she said, "I love it."

I thought to myself as she left, "This is the type of client I want to attract!"  

Everything about the experience left me fulfilled.  Boundaries existed, but they didn't color the whole event, and both of us appeared to be free in the time we shared.  Beautiful.

More please!

Hair in the Bay

This is old news now, but I feel compelled to celebrate the concept that salons can contribute to cleaning up waste, not just produce it.  I was called by my friend Laura, a hairstylist who now works in San Francisco. She alerted me to the fact that hair was being collected for making hair mats to help clean up the Cosco Busan oil spill in the San Francisco Bay.  We started immediately sweeping hair into bags and sending it off to the Matter of Trust organization.  Lisa Gaultier heads up this small nonprofit, and previously made these hair mat made from human hair and mushrooms.  The hair absorbs the oil, and the mushrooms will soak up oil and make for non toxic compost.

Brilliant.  It's people like this that use their minds for great things, that inspire me.  How else can hair salons clean up their act and produce less waste?  How can we become less toxic and still colour hair?  Is it possible?  What about the foils from weaving hair?  It wasn't until maybe three years ago, that I realized it was better to dump excess color into garbage, rather than the drain? 

The topic is large and painful to ponder, but how can I move this into action?  I would love to learn about any movement, organization, etc. that is educating hairdressers, passing legislation, offering workshops etc. about helping hair salons become Green and increase the awareness of their impact on the environment. 

I guess the simple question is what am I doing in my everyday life at the salon to contribute to the idea of less is more when it comes to our planet.

 www.matteroftrust.org

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.

The Power of Beauty

Beauty lies within a woman's soul.  Whether she wears a refined, smooth, bob, a pixie, or a glamorous, long, look.  Her beauty reveals itself through her eyes, in the way she picks up a glass, or the way she interacts with a child.  It's revealed in nothing short of everything she does. And yet a woman's beauty is not a prescription, but indescribable, and elusive.  The expression manifests itself as differently as we are individuals, as varied as  the many species of flowers that speckle the earth.  So when a woman sits in my chair, and her eyes twinkle, she says what is on her mind, and she is leery of looking like every other woman, or even a movie star, then I know I'm dealing with a woman who is in touch with herself, her inner beauty, her soul.

"Mommy hair" is an infliction of the American woman --long blond hair, with tiny hi-lites everywhere.  A look of someone who is trying to look like what they think it means to be a woman in the American culture, instead of creating the culture itself, using herself as the canvas.

The power of beauty permeates in what she chooses to wear and how she wears it, whether it's a hairstyle or an item of clothing.  Dressing for herself as if she matters, placing attention on the face, hair and clothing, as well as tending to the inner life, give a woman an undeniable beauty.  It creates an energy that makes people smile as they pass her by, they have to look, and yet, this resonance has nothing to do with trend, and needing people to look.  She knows it is her much needed contribution of Beauty to the world, and we are the recipients.

Time to Shine

Giselle is one of those clients who walks into a room and commands attention, not by what she says, but how she looks.  She is regal, unafraid, and meets you with her eyes.  At first glance, you might think she is an artist, a gypsy, or a one woman show of some kind.  When I first met her, I knew it was my time to shine.

She was referred by a client who, in the past has liked to play with special effects in her, colors that were unnatural looking and fun.  She spoke of Giselle, and said, "One of these days she will come in, and you will love doing her hair."

The day came when she sat in my chair.  It was a match that was meant to me.  As she said yesterday, "I knew you were out there somewhere and that I would meet you, I just didn't know when."   The experience I have of coloring her hair, is one of utter, complete freedom.  I don't have to consult, ask permission, or hesitate. Her only requirement is that is doesn't look natural.

My only limitation is my own thinking, my own mind.  So I dream while I paint on her color, letting my mind imagine and wander in the kaleidoscope of the color world.  Is it lime green with orange, or purples and oranges.  Right now we are working with doing less bleach and toning, and playing with 7.40 Loreal, 20 volume at the base.  Mid-lengths and ends are bleached and toned with candy apple red, and napalm orange, and yellow, with a smidgen of orange.

Who knows what will be next.  I don't plan.  I want to stay in the moment with her hair, and before her next appointment I will probably have a creative, rich, dynamic dream about her, in full living color.

By the way, she is a most talented clothing designer.  Check her out.  www.giselleshepatin.com

Hair Types and Personalities

Over the years, I have thought about how the different hair-types match the personality of a person?  Does curly hair match a more-than-what-meets-the-eye kind of personality?  Does frizzy hair match a more complicated, uncontainable personality?   And does a pokey head of hair match a defiant personality?  I am thinking about this now as it relates to my family, whom I am visiting for the holiday with my four sisters, one brother, and their families.  Pondering this notion, if nothing else, buys me some time from considering how we are disconnected and have not changed much at all. The third oldest is the one with the most hair, she is growing her hair out again, it is mid-length, around her shoulders and big.  I mean she has three times the amount of all of us, is definitely the ringleader, activity director, and certainly one of the most vocal of the clan.  Then there is the oldest sister, who has straight, coarse, very short hair and is also one of the outspoken ones.  Her language has become more abrasive, as her personality has, shouting seems to be the way she communicates.  She refuses to change, even when she is miserable.  The fourth oldest sister wears her fine hair long, down to her lower back, it looks like there is an old perm on the last six inches or so.  She is not verbal at at, in fact it seems as if the muscles around her mouth have contracted, giving her limited range of motion.  She sends little verbal dings when she does speak, or piles on the guilt.  My brother has a lot of hair as well, sort of curly on the ends, although it looks a bit like a Mullet now, it's better than the militaristic look it had five years ago, which is the last time I saw him.  He comes off tough, and sometimes will spew racial, political words that seem spoon fed to him from some right wing rhetoric on TV, but he is the first to give hugs.

Then there is my parents, both have a lot less hair, both are all grey and white.   My dad just turned eighty years old yesterday and my mom is seventy four, both are showing signs of her age, she was limping yesterday.  My dad is soft-spoken, like his fine hair which lies down smooth, although he has been known to stand up on his political soapbox as well, he has spared us this trip.  My mother has a bit more texture to her hair, and she perms it to make it do what she would like, not so unlike her subtle manipulation with us.

And me, I am one of the soft spoken ones, particularly when around my sisters, who compete and play verbal hardball.  I do wish I had a quick mind and verbal ability, I have come to accept it is not me.  My hair is fine and short today, with some bend if given encouragement which could be indicative of my somewhat pathological need for constant fluffing, keeping things fresh, and change.

Hair texture aside, my family is familiar and yet my life is so unlike theirs.  And all though we strive to connect, we cannot go back and rewrite the play of our lives.  We love each other and we do connect in small ways.

Community

Yesterday was a most challenging day.  Total chaos in the salon--loud, bad 80's music all day-Donna Summer, Duran Duran and, and, and, oh well, I just tuned it out.  Eight chairs packed, every stylist had two clients going at at least once throughout the day.  Our new receptionist that just started this week, gone, and we were short assistants.  I felt fragile. Then, Betty walked in.  She was visiting from Boston for the holiday.  Within moments she revealed her age, a surprising eighty one years did not show.  She stood about 6'3"years old, and  wore a wide, beautiful smile.  She was stylish and well-dressed, in a Chico's kind of way, she made the clothing look classy.  Drama was written all over her, however, not yet expressed in her hair design. 

She was scheduled for a blow dry.  And, when I set the dryer down, I asked, "How long has it been since you had a cut?"

She said, "Just last week.  But you may do whatever you want."  Music to my ears.  As I nipped away, creating some asymmetry in the fringe area and taking weight of the top, she opened her heart, by telling me a difficult story, obviously one that changed her life forever.  A story that required an indomitable inner strength to survive. 

She talked about her community of friends and how they have been there for her.  And then we came back around to her hair.  She said, "I have been with my stylist for thirty eight years, even when sometimes I'm not happy."

"That is loyalty." I responded.

"Yes. I wouldn't think of changing, we have a relationship.  He's part of my community," she said.  And because I am a friend of her daughters, she treated me as if I were a member as well.

As she waved goodbye, she remarked, "This is the cut I have always wanted.  I'm going to have to move here now."  We both laughed and knew that would never happen.  I walked into the break room with the feeling I had met somebody with a kind heart, a sense of humor, and a deep soul.

Curly Hair

Springy, bouncy, frizzy, coarse, or fine doesn't matter, curly hair is the most challenging hair for me to cut. Specifically, the coarse or frizzy head of hair, where the client isn't product oriented. But I love cutting it's twists and turns. I never knew how to cut it before.  Clients would leave with haircuts that looked like pyramids, cones, or entirely too bulky.  I didn't know about texturing or channeling fat curly hair.  The finesse of cutting curly hair has taken years to develop.

And, still, it can leave me baffeled and doubting myself. Everything I've learned about curly hair has come through watching other hairstylists, some online training, and working with it for 24 years. This is where personal growth and professional developement step in.  Perhaps I should attend a class. 

Curly hair, the definition of humility. I bow to you.

Graveyard Saddhana

Three years ago, a client of mine, Nancy, was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.  Being the "alternative" medicine queen, she tried accupuntcure, herbs from Mexico, doing nothing, doctor after doctor for more opinions, before she would walk the western medicine route.  We were close, and both of us knew our relationship had little to do with hair.  "I would rather die, than deal with the medical world," she had announced.  After months of estrogen blockers as part of the treatment, she shot into the salon for a haircut; short brisk movements, her head turning side to side, her seat moving in and out of the chair, her voice cracking.  She was a live wire flipping through the air, not knowing where to land. 

A year later she was introduced to a spiritual practice called Nicherin Daishonin Buddhism.  It's the practice that chants Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, I had heard about it eighteen years prior by a client, but I didn't practice long.  Nothing ever stuck with me.  One day during this time, Nancy sat in my chair, her voice calm, the angst gone, her words came out like little pillows, instead of jagged points.  She had literally dropped into her body.

I was impressed enough, and miserable enough to say, " I'm coming to a meeting. "  All my life I have wandered how can I be happy?  All the obvious externals, weren't doing it anymore.  Did they ever?  In one years' time, chanting twice a day, the benefits in my life keep rolling in.  I can honestly say, I am happy.  I've had some major challenges come up and have been able to move through them with ease.

Nancy was just in for a two year check up, so far no cancer to be found.  The doctor finds it mysterious, he wants her back in three months to continue the hunt.  She keeps chanting, and did chant right into the face of death.  Graveyard Saddhana.

 Nancy and I are closer now than ever, and now we understand the deeper nature of our relationship.

Thank you Nancy!

The Best Hairstylist: Have you found one?

Going into a salon to get your haircut can be a mystifying, multi-faceted, complex experience, leaving one fulfilled as they walk out onto the sidewalk, looking for every possible reflective surface to peer into, or not.  One would think to get a haircut would be simple-- go in, put on one of those all so attractive smocks, tell the stylist what you want, shampoo, cut and blow dry.  Done.  But how do you find the best hairstylist for you?

Do they have style?  Do they communicate well? Are they skilled?  Are they ego driven and full of attitude? Do they listen to you? Do they give a great shampoo? Do you walk out loving your do?

These are a few of the things I would look for.  I love going to stylists who are highly creative, who aren't afraid to try new ideas, who are easy to be with, upbeat, postive and communicate well about what they are going to do with my hair.  I want to go to a stylist who is kind.  But I don't want this, if it means I need to deal with too much ego, personal drama etc.

It's not just somebody who works on my hair.  They are touching me, I want somebody I hope to go back to and develop a relationship with, somebody I can trust.   This relationship is personal and professional.  Do I give this to my clients?

No Boundary

So, back to the personal question issue, which is inextricably connected to boundaries.  The boundary line moves depending on who sits in my chair, but there is always a line to be found that winds back and forth on itself, building a wall around my personal life.  So, how is it then, that this wall seems imperceptible to some, as if there is no boundary?  About once every six months, for the last fifteen years, a client has asked "When are you getting married?"  She insists that I need to, and now even more so because my partner and I have a child together.  Now she is at least twenty years my senior and works as a therapist.  Even as well as we know each other, I would never say to her, "You need to do this."  Nor would I assume that I would know what is right for her.  This topic feels personal to me.

And so, I answer with, "We're talking about it."  Hoping this will appease her for another six haircuts.  It's awkward every time.  What is my own privacy threshold?  If marriage feels to personal. and I haven't said anything to her, then there is no boundary.   Would a client say, "Hold it, that is too personal, I don't want to talk about that?

Therapy vs Hairstyling

Watching my friend give and give and give as a hairstylist, then burn out, was incredibly painful.  Did he need to do it that way?  Seeing his muddied boundaries was confusing, because he was somebody I respected in other ways, he would do just about anything for me.  In fact, he helped me build my hairstyling career. Maybe it's the only way he knew how.  Maybe it is what his clients expected of him. As a budding hairstylist, I could see the position required building relationships, sustaining them, not to mention having great technical skills, but did it mean I had to give up myself as an offering?

Relationship

I used to work next to this hairdresser, a very good friend of mine at the time, who never hesitated to ask really personal questions, and he played out the role of psychologist, even though he was one of the most neurotic people I know.  "So how are you two really doing?  Are you having sex yet?"  My skin would crawl, it felt unprofessional.  And yet, he was booked solid.  He was known to be over-the-top sensitive, and a great listener, and he really did care.  And, yet he would get right in your buisness.  He attracted clients who liked that.

He gave, and gave, and gave.  He booked himself tight, haircut after haircut.  Lunch went down in five minutes, usually the fattiest, saltiest of foods, wtih a Coke.  After years of that pace, he vanished from his buisness.  Couldn't do it anymore.  Clients who had appointments, didn't get a call.  Clients of eighteen years wondered why. 

Done.