I looked like the joker. Or maybe a minotaur. How did I get to this predicament and what was to happen next?
After leaving Falmouth I needed to find a new hairdresser. The one I went to in Launceston had not done a great job last time, but I wasn’t keen on driving two hours just for a haircut, so I had the daunting task of finding someplace new that could tame my ever growing mop of hair. And it had indeed grown into an unruly mop.
Maybe I just had pre-made assumptions about Craig Chapmans but I wasn’t being proven wrong either. Since childhood the salon had been the chic establishment of Launceston, winning and being nominated for a wealth of awards, even now they are running simultaneously for best stylist and best afro for 2013, it just seems too hollywood for Launceston, what with its fabulous green and pink striped chairs.
There was current pop music plating and the retro ‘gone with the wind’ on mute on a wall mounted television.
The man himself was working on a sleek haircut in front of me as I wait. Five minutes past my time, may I add. I’m not very patient anyway, and I’m annoyed that nobody had come to me to say they are running late. I was offered a drink as I walked in and everyone smiles but just being left is annoying, yet, I felt serene. There’s a happy buzz in Craig Chapman’s salon.
The actual shop is done in white, with black details. But it definitely is more stylish than clinical, a comfortable cleanliness as you sit and wait. A man with adorable facial hair/ stubble keeps milling about and cleaning, offering me a welcoming smile. There’s plenty of politeness, but not stylist asking me to the chair ten minutes after my appointment time. Regardless of this, I can’t help but give them top points for atmosphere. I may not fit in, but it isn’t awkward of uncomfortable, it has a good vibe. And the waiting chairs are fantastic.
As soon as something is on the floor one of the army of statuesque stylish staff are picking it up, and if they catch your eye they smile wide.
You know that awkward moment you’re complaining in your head that no one has come to see you and the stylist bounds over with a giant smile and stretches her hand out to shake it with such enthusiasm you stutter? Well yeah.
Kayleigh is a blonde, happy lady who directs me to a swivel chair and nods and ‘yes’es at all my ramblings at what I want my then unruly hair to do. Her eyes were alight but I wasn’t too sure if she understood me or not… but at the time I was more concerned with my voice being so loud, or quiet, or deep or unnatural as I tried to fight the volume of hair dryers, chatter and nerves.
I am then taken to a small woman (I say small, she’s probably taller than me) who washes my hair. I was told her name, but with all the worry that my voice sounded too deep and other problems with my vanity kept me from remembering it (sorry). That odd but nice head massage was done well, I have only had two salons do it my old faithful NV Hairdressing down Falmouth and now here, but both times I have enjoyed it. There was a slightly nervous press into my head once, and a single drop was flicked onto my noise – but even a single drop is frustratingly ticklish – but otherwise it was a high standard. Even now, two hours later, my head feels all fuzzy and relaxed.
I returned to Kayleigh with a tissue in my hand ‘for the drips’ and she bounces over again, like before, and smiles at me. Her face then turns into serious stylist mode and remained that way for the duration.
My hair is twisted like a unicorn and then clipped tightly to the top of my head. This is repeated in various places before My chin is casually forced onto my chest and I feel the small tug of my hair being cut.
My hair wasn’t all that long anyway, but I was seemed to be sitting there for an awful long time. I stole glances at the clock in the mirror. She put down the scissors, grabbed a pot of clay ‘to add texture’ and kneaded my scalp. It felt funny, being mussed around so much, but when I caught sight of the mirror my hair was in every direction and more, causing me to swallow a laugh. Kayleigh has a completely straight face, how she didn’t laugh at what she had just down still amazes me now. The clay itself smelt divine, like a fruit berry mousse.
Once she had done drying it I looked in the mirror to see a minotaur. My hair was giant and curled around my face. Please let it only be half way through.
It was. Thankfully.
She started straightening it and a yummy breeze of burning fruits floated past me as my hair smoked… wait what.
After 15 minutes of artistic hacking with razor scissors my hair became textured and light.
Cost = £40