The mother of all days ... a hairdresser’s tale

IKNEW it was going to be one of those days... Hairdressers have that sixth sense — ask any one of them and they will tell you they can sense looming dread.

A quick look at the next day schedule will informthem of what the doomsday has in store — a difficult client maybe? Or the habitual late one who arrives 15 minutes after her appointment, holding aloft a latte saying “soz, my bad” to the receptionist. That’s when we know it’s going to be one of those days.

So when I arrive to work before we open and my receptionist tells me my first client is in already with a look that says ‘be warned,’ I get that feeling. I’m not late but I apologise anyway as the client has been here since 8.30am even though we only open at nine. She is bemoaning the fact that there’s no coffee shop open in a direct tone and without making eye contact despite my apologies.

I decide to put my years of experience in the charm department to the test: “Oh well we can get that sorted, how about a cappuccino or a latte — no wait, I’m sure you are a double espresso woman?” (small, dark and bitter ran through my mind).

‘Tea, just a regular tea,’ she sniffs. ‘English breakfast?’ I suggest. ‘Sure it’s nearly lunchtime, I’ll have Earl Grey thank you.’

My assistant runs off to get the tea and I start to get myself prepared for the consultation. ‘Now Mrs Maguire, or can I call Marie?’ I ask.

MRS Maguire will be fine.’ Aaghh. I continue. ‘Ok then, so you’ve been booked this appointment as a Mother’s Day gift and your daughter has requested that we give you a little makeover.

‘She says that it should be modern classy but age appropriate, so I’m thinking that would could create some more texture, add a little more softness to the fringe area, certainly shorter through the back and sides, maybe fuller but not set, classy but not structured… a little 90s Meg Ryan inspired with a hint of Helen Mirren.

‘We will bring your edge back without compromising the quality and integrity of your hair’s natural movement and texture.’ I conclude.

I’m pretty proud of my opening gambit and eagerly await the response. ‘What in gods earth are you on about? I’ll have a trim, shampoo and set, and the tea is too hot — more milk.’

And Mrs Maguire looks at me for the first time. I can see her eyes now — clear, blue piercing eyes, almost penetrating my own. I almost agree before coming back to my senses. ‘Aghh now, you’ve come all this way, your daughter has paid for you, she would never be happy if you came back to Letterkenny with a shampoo and set.’ I’m almost begging her to let me cut her hair. It would be easier to simply do what she wants — in fact it might not as I haven’t actually done a set in 30 years, but I am determined. ‘Surely you would like to see what a little change could make?’ She sips her fresh cup of tea and fixes me with those ice cold eyes. ‘Bridie McIlroy has been doing my hair every Friday since 1968. If she knew that I was in Belfast in a fancy hair salon being told that I was getting a Gerry Ryan makeover she’d be spitting feathers. So no thank you, the only ‘little change’ I’ll be getting is what’s left of the €100 voucher my daughter bought when I’m finished here.’

My assistant Hannah, as exasperated as I was, took Mrs Maguire to the shampoo area and offered her a shiatsu massage only to be met with more resistance as she is insistent that she wants her hair washed ‘the way Bridie does.

As she’s being brought to the cutting station I notice Mrs Maguire is small— not frail but definitely petite. She holds her handbag tightly, the turban makes her look strangely glamorous — she’s almost Bette Davis looking.

The stylists and colourists smile as she passes.

‘Good morning Mrs Maguire,’ Lex our young stylist says to her. She’s bewildered and sits down at my chair. There is a fragility about her now but she’s fixated on the intricately wrapped towel on her head, saying how the young lady who washed her hair is very good and wondering how Lex knows her name.

I smile at her and tell her Lex does her daughter’s hair and sorted out the appointment.

‘We’ve been looking forward to having you visit us.’

Mrs Maguire looks sceptical, those Betty Davis eyes are piercing again. ‘I’m sure you say that to all aul ones,’ she remarks.

I’ve arranged magazines and pictures of suggestions as I’m pretty sure I can convince Mrs Maguire to try something different; just a little step in a more modern direction but I’ve had to change tack.

Using a celebrity might not be the best plan of attack so I’ve gathered similar hairstyles but on people who are less recognisable — this way it separates the client’s personal feelings about the individual and the hair suggestion.

But before I get any further, the door is firmly shut as she insists once more: ‘Just do it the way Bridie does it.’

‘Absolutely, of course, no problem, But just take a look at this, it’s almost like your hair, but it’s younger and easier to manage because of shape and the way it’s dried. You could do it yourself and you won’t have to go the salon as often to have it set?’

Mrs Maguire stares at me. ‘How do you know I don’t want to go to the salon every week? Maybe I don’t want to do my own hair? Sure if I didn’t go to Bridie at 10 o’clock every Friday what would I do? What would she do?’

I’m beaten, I have no answer to that as she’s right. I think of my own regular clients; their special slots and times.

I start to trim Mrs Maguire hair, carefully following every section, holding it up to show her how much is coming off. She nods occasionally, giving her blessing to the small slithers of hair that I was cutting off the ends. Her eyes follow every inch, every angle is examined but she comments that I am very precise— and slow.

WHEN I finish I explain I’ve removed a little extra weight at the back area and left it a little longer on top so that she could have some styling options.

‘Like what?’ she inquires, for the first time seeming interested when I say she could blow dry or finger dry it sometimes, before adding: ‘Maybe we could blow dry your hair today?’

The entire salon falls silent — would she wave the white flag?

‘Go on then, sure why not? I’ll be in with Bridie on Friday any way so she can fix whatever you do to me.’

Lex is on hand to blow dry, wishing her Happy Mother’s Day and she smiles at him, warm and almost proud, like mums do.

As I’m doing my next client I can hear them chatting and laughing about London and Paris and food.

‘Do you like sushi Mrs Maguire?’ Lex asks.

‘I don’t know her, who is she?’ she says and they both laugh as he explains.

She looks at her hair as he asks what she thinks and her eyes have a twinkle.

‘Very nice,’ she tells him. ‘You did a good job.’

When I come back to her, Hannah is showing her how to tie a turban.

Mrs Maguire looks mystified and confused but seems very impressed with this tattooed, pierced, blue haired turban wearing young lady.

‘I think I need more practice.’ she says.

‘Well how does it look Mrs Maguire? ‘I ask eventually. ‘My daughter will be impressed,’ she says.

‘And what about you?’ I push her.

‘It’s a change I suppose but I don’t know what Bridie will make of it.’

I take off her gown and show her to the reception. Joni, our front of house, asks if everything is OK and offers to order a cab to take her to the station.

Mrs Maguire politely refuses and asks if the remainder of the voucher can be split between Lex and Hannah. Joni wishes her a Happy Mother’s Day and Mrs Maguire fixes those amazing blue eyes on her.

‘Thank you, it’s been lovely.’ And then, just like that, she’s gone.

Got a hair problem? Leisa are Paul and your here to anwer your queries. Send to features@ questions write to Stafford dailymail.ie or Irish Daily Hair Clinic, Features, Buildings, 2 Haddington Mail, Road, Dublin 4. Haddington and Leisa cannot Paul into individual enter correspondence.