In Hairstylist I Trust

Good Hair Day

There's an old joke that is credited to either Groucho Marx or Woody Allen that is, "I would never want to be a member of a club that would have me as a member." I feel the same way about more than just clubs. I'm sure it's something for my therapist to deal with but as today I'm getting my hair cut and I'm completely intimidated by the guy who cuts my hair it's on my mind. In stylist I trust - Don't Get Me Started!

(Read more from Scott at www.somelikeitscott.com )

The guy who is currently cutting my hair is about 6'3", looks good enough to have a closed cropped hair cut himself and an accent from somewhere. It's one of those accents that you're not sure where it came from and to ask would be kind of rude so you just nod when you don't understand his adorable broken English and hope that he didn't just ask you to kill someone. "Oh my goshes" and "Seriously" are the phrases that can be understood and he repeats often.

The first time I had my hair cut by Gustav (name changed because I don't want him to ever read this and start giving me bad haircuts) was completely by accident. I had seen him at the salon but he seemed a little too good looking and generally too good for me. Yes, he intimidated me. Much like the rest of my life (my guitar teacher leaving town without telling me, gym trainers leaving me on a bike for an hour as a "warm-up" my first training session, because he didn't really want to train a gay guy and decided to go to lunch, etc.) when I first went to this salon I had found this one woman and she was good but she would always tell me about how she and her very good looking gay roommate would go out and get anyone they wanted. She had cut it about three times and on the fourth appointment, I show up at the salon and they inform me that she had been "let go" earlier in the day. That's right, no call to let me know but they ushered me into another stylist's chair, a guy named Tony or something, an Italian guy who had just moved here from New York and was waiting for his wife to arrive. He didn't belong in this salon, with his tattoos and his calzone of a gut hanging over his Sansabelt pants, I was not surprised when for appointment two he was no longer there, having moved back to New York. As I was standing at the desk they told me Gustav had an opening and as our eyes locked across the salon, he looked at me as if to say, "Oh my goshes, you've been coming here for months and should have been coming to me all along but now, you will be dazzled by the world of Gustav! Seriously!"

The first haircut I said nothing the entire time. Anyone who has read even one of my blog entries knows that I am never at a loss for words. But Gustav seemed so intense and wasn't saying anything so I figured when in chair, do as the stylist does and say nothing. The haircut was of course amazing and I was completely won over but still no real words were exchanged, I left a big tip with the receptionist figuring money speaks louder than words and also hoping it would make him like me.

The next time I went in I brought along a picture because I was going to try to go for something a little different. Now I've watched all the makeover shows and I knew that this is what you were supposed to do. I had learned early on that bringing in pictures of models I wanted to look like in face, body and salary range was not smart. I knew my hair was straight and thin and that if I brought in any pictures it would need to be something achievable instead of unbelievable. In the past, several stylists have appreciated my reality based photos that I've brought in and the results have been half way decent. I showed Gustav the photo and making a face as if he was smelling something awful said, "Seriously, I can no see this, too dark. No picture, I know what do. You see." This was all he said to me and then he proceeded to cut my hair. Another great cut and probably better than what would have happened if he had used the picture as a guide so I vowed to never bring in another photo.

The third time I went in I decided this was ridiculous, I'm fun, funny and gosh darn it, people like me. So I made some reference to the fact that I was wondering if he knew how dangerous it was to cut my hair as he was the third person I'd gone through at the salon. He almost smiled and said, "Oh my goshes, they were flakes. I see you from start. You should have come to Gustav." And then it happened, he actually laughed a little. Whether it was an evil laugh or genuine I didn't care it was the break that I was looking for and from there I would go on to learn about him, his boyfriend and I would end up with a great haircut every time. Even the styles I wasn't sure I should or could pull off he managed to convince me were right for me.

There are times when I beg him if we can not leave it longer (sounding like Maria in West Side Story, "Could we not make it an inch lower?") but he just says, "Seriously? I know what best. You like when I done." And that's why when you find a stylist that is good you should stay with them forever. I know Gustav and I will be together for a very long time. Seriously. In stylist I trust - Don't Get Me Started!

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