Identity Hair Salon...I had my hair cut on Friday in Nice. When I arrived, my usual hairdresser had cut his finger and was out for 2 weeks. OUCH! But, no one called to tell me, so I had to go with 2 other stylists. The salon is very small and narrow, but it was packed, a beehive of activity. There were 3 males and one female stylists. A lot of English speaking people come to this salon, I don't know how we find it, but it's a great salon. There were all types of women getting treatments...the socialite type with a BIG POLO pony on her dark blue polo shirt, tight white pants and high espadrilles. I'm sure was American from hearing her talk. She was a little affected. I could imagine her living with her fabulously rich husband somewhere on the sea in Cap D'Ail ( http://www.cap-dail.com/_ ) in a fabulous minimal house with sunshine streaming in. I imagine her getting her hair done for a fabulous dinner party that evening that was being catered and featured candle light and gold details.
Her hairdresser, who would become mine for the day was dressed all in black, jeans, t-shirt and vest. You could tell by watching him that he was very good at what he does. He has that French accent that is very beautiful when he speaks English. I imagine that his Mother was Parisian and very well bred and taught him beautiful French. I know he's from this area as he described to me caravanning near where I live on the river ( as many caravan like people do) . I could tell he was remembering the sweet days of childhood swimming in the river. I imagine that his Parisian mother hated caravanning.
He was handsome i his way and confident which as we all know, goes a long way. I don't know what his name was, but I will call him Stephan. He had beautiful blue eyes.
and...there was a woman in her late 70's who had very coiffed old lady hair. When she came in, all the men stopped and kissed her like she was their Mother, very sweet. She had reddish hair, a long orange linen duster coat with orange linen pants underneath. She was very stylish. I sat in the sink chair, waiting for my gloss to finish and I was looking directly at her. She had been shampooed and was looking very old before Stephan got ahold of her. I would have thought he would be gentle and trepidatious with her. Not Stephan, he jumped right in with all the enthusiasm with which he blow dryed Madame Cap D'Ail's hair. The next thing you know, she was completely coiffed, looking fresh and revived. On the way out, everyone got a kiss on both cheeks.
There was a mother getting her hair done. She had a very loving 7 year old daughter that was wearing a very fashionable romper. She would run to the front to sit on the black, lip shaped couch for awhile and then run back and sit on her Mother's lap. She had very long blondish brown hair and loved her Mother very much.
There was the Mother that got dropped off by her daughter who left. The Mother was stocky, small in stature, and looked more Spanish/Mexican than French. She seemed very uncomfortable in the salon, as though she had given up on looking good and had retreated into a peripheral role in life. She seemed to me like a woman that worked hard her whole life maybe as a cleaning woman. I saw the daughter when she dropped her off. She seemed embarrassed.
A woman came in that was very Carol Channing does Nice. Her hair was bleached blonde, she had large sunglasses on. She was tiny with big chunky heels on. She had on skinny jeans. When she walked in she somehow demanded every one's attention. She stood in the middle of the shop in the glare from the sun through the front window. She posed as if she would break into song. All the hairdressers knew her and the kisses flew again. She was sitting next to me when I was getting my hair cut. She took off her glasses and I could see that she was very old ( and needed hair styling). She was a talker and was just getting started when I left.
If you were thinking this was an older lady's salon...There was a young girl, she seemed to be about 18. She had long blondish brown hair. She looked very mousy and nervous when she first sat in the chair. I couldn't tell if he was pretty. As time went by and I was sitting waiting for the gloss to gel, she was being finished by the female stylist. Her hair had become light and golden. The stylist was making loose ringlets with a curling iron. She would spray a cloud of hairspray and go at it again. The girl had been turned into a young Renaissance Maiden. Her featured had changed and she had become pretty. I could feel the change in energy in the whole room as this girl was spun into a different looking creature. All of the women were looking in their mirrors into the reflection from the maiden's mirror to see her new beauty. Many women in that room mourned the passing of their youth when they had to look straight into their own reflections again.
The girl rose with new confidence, put on her faded jean jacket and walked out onto the street feeling much different than when she came in.
My Colorist was a gentle boy. I will call him Michel. He must have been around 30, tall, very French looking with delicate features. He really looked like a grown boy. He was very gentle. I always get sleepy when I have my hair done. He told me that as a child, he would put his head on his Mother's lap and she would massage his head until he was ready to go to bed as he was so sleepy. I could picture it so clearly. The lights are low, it's evening, after school, there is a fire in the fireplace. He lays with his head on his Mother's lap. The orange glow of the fire lights up his content face. His mother has long elegantly thin fingers with a big sparkling diamond. They are both beautiful and delicate . She loves the boy. He is so much like her.
Perhaps it is my job in this life to slow things down and make people savor what's right in front of them by putting spotlights on beauty that is everywhere.
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