50 Shades of Dodgy Haircuts

Years ago, I had a great hairdresser. She knew my hair better than I did. Then one day she sold up and moved on, taking her great hair cutting skills and a small piece of my spirit with her.

Since then, I’ve been on a decades-long quest for a decent haircut.

Every new salon promised me miracles; every visit ended the same way: disappointment and me staring at myself in the mirror at home deciding how I could improve the situation with a bottle of wine and kitchen scissors. It got so bad that for a few years I just cut my own hair. Sometimes it looked alright. Sometimes the back looked like I’d lost a fight with a hedge trimmer. Or a lawnmower. It varied.

Then three years ago, I rolled into a salon in my new local town and found Becca.

Aside from being delightfully bonkers and one of McFly’s biggest fans (she’s seen them over 50 times and turned up at their recording studio just to see if they were around — the McFly guys know her well so it’s technically not stalking, isn’t it?), Becca is brilliant. She listens.

When I met her, I was growing out a short bob I’d had for ages. After that first appointment, I walked out feeling amazing. What a novelty. Most hairdressers seemed determined to style my fringe into a wedge so immovable it could withstand a hurricane, a tornado and possibly a small nuclear event. I always left other salons looking like the forgotten fifth Beatle.

I’m not disparaging hairdressers. Really, it’s a job I couldn’t do. The patience alone deserves a medal. But perhaps my lack of skill in explaining that I didn’t want to resemble a member of a 1960s rock band wasn’t helping matters.

The point is, for the past three glorious years, Becca has got it right. Every time.

After years wandering the wilderness of questionable fringes and accidental Beatles auditions, I’ve learned something important: when you find someone who truly understands your hair, you don’t let them go.

I know that if Becca ever decides to move, my don’t-let-them-go instinct will kick in.

I’ve already told Becca that if she leaves town, I’ll be chasing behind her. She’s a keeper.