The Hairdresser

In the world of females a hairdresser can mean a variety of things. Cultural understandings and conceptions place the hairdresser as the equivalent of a woman's bar tender. The labored male, tired from life's trials and expectations, seats himself lazily at the bar. The apt bar keep absent-mindedly wipes the bar top down while pouring a drink and asking him "What's your trouble?". He's a sponge-like wall, absorbing all the drinker has to say. It stays within the bar, under layers of bourbon, scotch, and beer. The over spill tray, filled with remnants of an evening's work, is cleaned and washed at shift's end...much like the soul seeking a drink.

In contrast, the hairdresser laborers over and on the customer. She gently brushes the hair, lifts it off the face, removes unsightly strays, and hides markers of age. She can even turn lackluster noir locks into golden bounces of light and luster. Her fingers massage the head, often making the customer relax from the tensions of her day, and she idly chit. chats about aimless and random moments of conversation. She remembers her customers--for their faces, gorgeous locks, or bad taste in hairstyles and products--and she always makes their hair a wonderful creation in the end. The life's troubles and secrets of the women in the chairs with curlers, perms, dyes, bleaches, and straightners in their hair are washed away with the chemical resins and swept into the gutter with the hair clippings.

The hairdresser to a woman is a marker of herself. A bad one can not be hidden because the evidence is literally on her head. A great one...a great one is discussed, recommended, and passed around like a group of ladies trying "new" fruit flavored umbrella drinks at the sandbar.