Dalia Does…Her Hair

See, when you think about it, the subculture of the salon is all very absurd. From the moment you step in, it’s like another world where vanity reigns supreme, arrogance runs rife and you’re as obsessed with your look as Rachel Zoe on crack. It begins with the questions – Is your hair washed? Would you like a drink? No, really, what would you like to drink? You can’t not have a drink. Wavy wala lisse? How about we trim the ends? How about we cut a fringe? How about we change the colour? How about we stop talking about your hair like it’s communal property and I’ll just do what you want? What would you like to drink?

When you’re settled in with a compulsory juice, water or coffee, it only becomes stranger. You look into the mirror and you’re assaulted by an army of lights, exposing every pore, the asymmetry of your face and the unexpected sheerness of your top. You wonder if you should have put on make-up, if you can pull off this wet-haired look and where the bags under your eyes came from.  You imagine yourself with a left-side parting, a right-side parting and a middle parting. Your phone rings. You’ll yell pointlessly into it that you’re at the salon and that you can’t hear over the sound of the hair dryers. The girl next to you will do the same and you’ll roll your eyes at her through the mirror, not quite decided whether you want her to notice or not.

Everybody smokes and everybody sneers, except that special bread of mid-20s female who manages to smile and sneer at the same time. You’ll look at each and every woman on the row and compare your hair to hers. They’re all doing the same. On the odd occasion you find one whose hair looks better, you’ll reassure yourself you’re prettier. She’s doing the same. Sometimes – and this is rare – someone will ask you an opinion on a colour, cut or style. You don’t know what to answer, and she doesn’t really care what you have to say. You’ll look back into the mirror and you’ll have aged 15 years, your hair won’t make any sense and you’ll notice your terrible, terrible posture. You’ll glance around, searching for someone who is more of a mess than you are right now. You’ll see an unoccupied wig being given as much care by a stylist as you are, a foreigner whose hair doesn’t even need to be ‘done’ and a 30-something with hair so chemically perfected, she skips right by you and heads upstairs to get to a manicure. You’ll decide that being bald, white or addicted to keratin treatments is the only way you’ll be able to escape this suddenly uncomfortable chair week after week.