The hairdresser's iron will

I can be assertive. I admit it's not always my strong suit, but certainly all signs of it disappear when I'm in a hairdresser's chair. I will happily stand up to a doctor, with more years of training, than a hairdresser.

At my age, I have fairly definite ideas about how I want my hair to look, and I think I start off by articulating it well. I like a strawberry blonde colour (I even take the formula with me written on a scrap of paper), because it suits my fair complexion. I always, always wear it up, so it has to be left long enough to meet the teeth of the hair comb. It's fine, so I want as much add-on value as they can possibly muster.

I think these are straightforward instructions, but obviously not in hairdresser speak. (I should point out that there is one who is very capable of bridging the language barrier, but she is a five-hour round trip from where I am currently living.)

So boots and all; they don't bother with the art of gentle persuasion.

'No, that colour's not right. That's not the right proportions; this will suit you better. And I'm just going to thin the back here.'


'Sure', I reply meekly. 'Whatever you think.'

Result: brown hair that won't hold the hair comb. Longer-term result: a headache from the teeth of the hair comb piercing my scalp.

And the backstory? My (and I use the term loosely and inclusively) first run-in was when I was about 18 and thanks to my more assertive  sister, I finally ended up looking somewhat younger than 65. After a visit to an expensive Double Bay hairdresser in Sydney's eastern suburbs where I had a truly tragic haircut she arrived with all guns blazing and insisted they 'made good'. If only I'd learnt that lesson then.

Then there was Pierrot le Fou in Sydney's Strand Arcade in the mid '70s. I know, the name was a dead giveaway and I should have paid more attention to it. But I went ahead and foolishly said the result was boring. It took years to grow out his comeback, a split-level effect more suited to the architecture of the time.

So, what is it about some hairdressers that they have to do 'the exact same thing' (don't you hate that kind of talk) you have asked them not to? It could just be the power they have standing over you while you sit and stare at yourself in an unforgiving mirror.