My last hairdresser was young and inexperienced. But she was convenient and for a while, inexpensive.
She moved to Thailand.
To save money, I forced my husband to help me with DIY colour. And after a few tears, it turned out okay. The colour was too dark, and it faded out to mahogany.
So it wasn't worth it.
After beach and sea and (okay, let’s be honest) neglect, I realized that my hair desperately needed tending to.
My first choice, the new local hairdresser, is on vacation until next week.
I decided to try The Other Salon. At the mall. I remembered a friend giving it a positive review.
And I thought it would be less expensive than the Very Good Salon, also at the mall. And I hoped it would be less expensive and more convenient than my mother’s New Zealand Salon.
I arrived at the salon. I was ten minutes late. After filling out the marketing paperwork, I began to discuss my colour with my hairdresser. She assured me that she had been working as a hairdresser for four years.
It seemed like it was her first day on the job.
There were four or five other people around my chair discussing my colour. I guess they had just switched over to a new colour range. Or maybe I was asking for something complicated, since it involved lightening. At this point, I thought about leaving and going somewhere else.
But since I’d waited until the last minute (read, wedding the next day) and childcare options were limited, I had to make do.
Now, I admit I am, shall we say, a little particular. I hate anything that looks the slightest bit red. I like warm colours. And so on.
Well, I got to look at a couple swatches for the base colour. But I didn’t get to look at any for my foils. They said caramel. I said warm beige. I began to feel a little more nervous.
At this point, someone else tried to sell me $40 to $60 worth of products. Now, even if my hair is in bad shape, I hate being bombarded with questions like, “what products are you using?” By more than one person at the salon. And then being forced to listen to a hard sell. If I am interested in your products, I will ask you about them.
And I don’t need comments from my hairdresser about how my cut has grown out. If it’s been six months since my last cut, I will admit it, and I have no interest in discussing it further.
Two hours later, after much discussion between five people, I was waiting for the toner to finish, and I still had not received my cut. But it was time to go and pick up the child from playcentre. So I had to leave with wet hair and no cut. Oh, and I had more dye on my face and ears than when my husband and I did my colour ourselves.
The colour turned out brassy. It might improve in a few days, so I will withhold my final review.
It was just as expensive as the Very Good Salon in the mall and my mother’s New Zealand Salon.
What would you do? Would you go back to the salon and tell them the colour isn't good enough and ask for more toner? And maybe a free cut, as two hours and fifteen minutes should be long enough for a cut and colour? Right?
Or would you just post a rant on your blog?
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