I am thirty years old and therefore old enough to know better. But sometimes you look down at your hair and it’s so split and damaged that a force bigger than you compels you to have it cut immediately. This happened to me last Friday afternoon. I usually see Andret at Mooi, who is the best hairdresser in the world. Fact. Unfortunately (for me), it seems that every woman in Cape Town agrees with me, so it’s near on impossible to get an appointment unless you book weeks in advance. My broken barnet needed tending to, and sharpish, so I ended up booking a panicked appointment at Frank Fowden at the V&A Waterfront, which is right across from my office (handy/extremely detrimental). For those not familiar, Frank Fowden is a very high-end salon – if you want Frank to personally cut your hair, be prepared to pay R750 for the privilege. He’s a little out of my price range, so I settled for a senior stylist, who still came in at a punchy R400. What’s the worst that could happen?
I learned a valuable lesson last week: I will never book a hair stylist’s last appointment of the day ever again. My stylist had been on her feet since 9am in a hot, loud salon and she was less than interested in what I had to say. The only time she showed any enthusiasm was when she managed to bully me into having a ‘treatment’ for R270. Proceed to the hair wash – I thought ‘Well, I’m having a treatment so at least I’ll get a nice head massage’. Wrong. The ‘treatment’ was applied to my scalp and pushed around for the sum total of about 30 seconds before it was rinsed off and I was frog-marched back to my chair. My stylist then proceeded to have a completely inappropriate conversation with me about her personal and professional life, which left me feeling awkward and uncomfortable. During all the chatting (hers) she managed to lob off way more than I specified, but it’s not the worst cut I’ve ever had (I once left a salon with an actual mullet, so I’m not going to lose sleep over this). It’ll grow out, I’ll get an appointment with Andret and she’ll make everything right again.
The blowdry, however, was another story – I left with disgusting, greasy roots on account of the ‘treatment’ not being washed out properly. Ponytail…immediately. My hair was so greasy, in fact, that later that evening, Jules’ fiancé asked me if someone had rubbed a pork chop on my head! Have you ever? Like I said, the cut is fine, and maybe I can overlook the blowdry (maybe I can’t), but the whole experience was so deeply unpleasant, and that is what left such a bad taste in my mouth. Obviously I didn’t voice any of this to my stylist because I’m a coward – but be honest, how many of you have smiled through gritted teeth and said ‘I love it’ when what you mean was ‘I hate it’?
So there you have it. Don’t make the same mistake I did – rather just go to Mooi.