Samara Ginsberg writes
I used to go to Sofi at The Ginger Group in Covent Garden, who was amazing and always made me look beautiful. Unfortunately, Sofi recently went back home to Sweden, which is how I ended up in the chair of Mo at the Harrow branch of the same salon chain. "Mo is a fantastic hairdresser," purred the girl who washed my hair, "You'll look great once he's finished with you." The Ginger Group is a well known chain and I've always been happy in Covent Garden so I expected the same service up in Harrow. Hmm. It seems leaving a Zone 1 postcode was a bad idea.
A bad haircut is something that plagues most of us at some point in our lives. Many's the time I've provided tea, sympathy and kirbigrips to a friend who has suffered at the hands of some Neanderthal wielding a pair of scissors. Now that I'm a big girl, I spend some of my hard-earned disposable income on leaving my hair to the professionals. I have a massive mop of fine, curly hair (okay, a Jewfro) that can look fantastic or ghastly depending largely on the quality of my latest haircut. I depend on my hairdresser to help, not hinder. Unfortunately...
Once I was ensconced in the chair, Mo regarded my locks with distaste. "So thick and curly!" he said, in a manner which implied that this was not a compliment. I told him the following, which I always tell new hairdressers:
• I have curly hair. I like it curly. Please don't give me a haircut that requires straightening.
• I'm growing it, so only take a tiny bit off the ends.
• It tends to get frizzy as it gets shorter, so please don't make the top layers too short, or else it will look like a mullet unless I style it properly every day.
• Further to the above, I am pretty low maintenance. Please bear this in mind.
• I am a sporty person and need to be able to tie my hair back
• My fringe grows incredibly fast, so please take a decent amount of length off it. I cannot be arsed to come in for a fringe trim once a week
He then proceeded to ignore every one of these points. I should have known I was in trouble when I told him that I hardly ever straighten my hair, and he stared at me like I was some mad bag lady who hadn't washed since about 1987. "Why not?" he enquired, making no effort to conceal his disgust and amazement. "Because straightening is bad for your hair, and I like it curly anyway," was my frankly pretty sensible reply. He simply tutted, shook his head and got to work.
Alarm bells were already ringing by now, but they got louder once I saw the amount of hair that was falling onto the floor. I had NOT asked him to take that much off. Once he'd finished, he stood back, folded his arms with an air of intolerable smugness and said, "See how beautiful you look now?"
It looked fine because it had just been styled and straightened by a professional, but the top layers were far too short, veering dangerously into mullet territory, and I could see that I wasn't going to be able to scrape them back into a ponytail. He hadn't cut my fringe at all. Worse still, he'd taken a good 10cm off the ends. That's a year's worth of growth gone in one swipe of the scissors.
"Your hair really had no shape before I cut it," he purred, "It was terrible." He'd just taken it upon himself to do what he thought best instead of what I asked for, and then expected me to be all happy about it.
Of course, I didn't have the balls to complain. I know I should have done, but faced with a man who obviously thought I was a complete tramp with revolting unruly hair that had been in desperate need of his attention, I just couldn't bring myself to say anything.
Besides, complaining wasn't going to make my hair grow back. Worse was yet to come when it was time to pay. "That will be £45 please. It should be more, but I'm in a good mood." He hadn't told me he was the Style Director!
And that is how I ended up paying £45 for a mullet.
The Ginger Group, 294 Station Road, Harrow, HA1 2DX
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