Hair Cut and Other Stories

Since the time I adopted my roomies hair philosophy of "ghar ki kheti, ugg jayegi" I have shared a chequered history with haircuts, some good, some bad. My last hair cut could definitely be included in the book of bad. But after eight months of struggling with an awkward length, I knew that it was time to shorn off my mane. A haircut for me is a very emotional thing. I mean I look at my face in the mirror at least five times a day, and I would like to see a reflection of what I perceive to be in harmony with me: a woman, a carer, a survivor with a taste for hot chocolate. Which in non esoteric terms means a haircut I can live with and most importantly know how to style. So I started my search on the internet through recommendations made by bloggers and their readers and narrowed down on five salons. Interestingly none of them were in my city, but I didn't mind a drive if I could get what I wanted. As luck would have it, none of these five places had appointments available which were suitable for me. And this turned out to be such a blessing in disguise because in about a months time I got to make a surprise trip to London and I discovered Smiths and Tom, the only hairdresser till date who really made me enjoy the whole process of transformation with each snip.

I actually came across Smiths in a lifestyle blog but I had my doubts. Firstly, the blogger in question who obviously had her cut for free, had a lifestyle which was completely different from mine. Secondly, I didn't want to end up in a salon where I pay through my nose and end up with a hairdresser pushing their products at me. So I called them up and asked for the expertise available and the price. I know it shouldn't, but it always comes as a surprise to me when services give you what you want. Websites can sometimes be a bit misleading or intimidating with the kind of images they put up. But if you know what you want, more often than not, you can actually get what you want or at least a close approximation of it. So appointment was made and everything seemed nice and hunky dory except for the directions.

I think Smiths has a couple of branches, I went to the Soho one. And the google map directions for it is absolutely crazy. I like my directions to be old school, you know like get out at Oxford Circle station, walk straight ahead from Topshop. Landmarks include Zara, H&M and French Connection. Reach HMV, cross the road, walk up the seedy lane. End of street, grey door on the right. I understand this language, the google one of Poland Street and Regent street is just blag for me. To make it worse, for some reason I wore a skirt, in London when its raining. Fashion victim tots and my vagina was freezing. 15 minutes left for my appointment and I still can't find the damn place. Call up the salon, put on hold, finally answered by a receptionist who was as clueless as me direction wise. I ended up ambushing a couple of Polish waiters on a break. My logic was Polish waiters would know Polish Street, talk about generalisation, but I was clutching at straws. And I was right, five minutes later my trials were over. I had finally made it to my destination.

And now I finally come to the man who made all of this worthwhile, Tom. When I first walked in, I was thinking of a trim with a side fringe and some soft waves in the front. But Tom managed to talk me out of the safe style, and instead we went for a Juergen Teller overload, a bit of Hannah Holeman from Marc Jacobs Daisy ad and Daria Werbowy's Celine cut minus the braid. A shaggy chic, deconstructed shape which I could style myself. To be honest I haven't perfected it, but I am slowly getting the hang of it. Now if only I could get the guaranteed sunshine to go with my hair, this summer would be awesome.