I always enjoy going to the hairdresser. I'm either locked into a Paris Match world or the goings on of people I've barely heard of in celebrity magazines, or I'm listening, enthralled, to the real life that's parading before my eyes.
Today in my favourite Jean Vallon salon the leggy brunette come blond was not there re-colouring her locks. It was the end of the day, and things were winding up for the evening. The owner of the salon whose name escapes me but would have to be something like 'Jason' was to cut my wayward locks after they had been coloured by she-of-duck-feet. Up until the wash basin I was out of it, consumed in a world where George Clooney was saying he was a confirmed bachelor (*sob*), Sego was getting fashionista advice on how to perk up her rather staid outfits and Whitney Houston was re-emerging into life after escaping from her disasterous marriage to whatisname.
Gripping stuff as I'm sure you'll agree. Still, it came to an end when my colour had 'taken' and had to be washed out. I was then left at the basin with 'soin' doing it's soin-ful thing on my now colourful head, without fascinating reading material. Within seconds however, I was aware of a terribly interesting conversation going between Jason and a female client of a certain age.
For my last few visits to this salon, strange but colourful paintings have appeared dotted about amongst the mirrors. They have one theme - la corrida (bull fighting) and blare out at you from vivid fushias, reds, yellows and golds. I wouldn't say they lacked imagination but that, in my humble opinion, is about all they don't lack.
I suppose it should be no surprise to learn that these paintings are the work of Jason (and this is my friend Sandy) and he has actually put prices on his work (around 80€). He was discussing painting then, with client-of-a-certain-age, who, it turned out, also enjoyed dabbling in acrylic. Painting is actually a pretty expensive business, and they were discussing this aspect of the creative muse at one point. Overheard was a comment along the lines of "well, you should go to la Foire Fouille and buy the paintings there for 5€ and paint over them! It's a much cheaper source of canvas". Staggered, I opened my ears wider to catch more pearls of wisdom with which to share with all you budding Monets.
As the hairdryer was turned on, however it was as if a spy had entered the room and had decided to drown out his secret conversation by running the bath. Much good did wagging my ears do me; I couldn't make out anything of note.
When Jason turned his attention to me, however, I decided I didn't want to broach the topic of art too closely - you never know what they'll ask you - but skirted the issue by addressing the world of the internet.
Jason had never heard of blogs and said he didn't have internet at home although he frolicked on the keyboard ivories when he visited friends. He had never heard of RyanAir, so I presume he didn't venture north much which, for a trendy hairdresser, surprised me. I waxed lyrical about the wonders of blogging, and how, with a digital camera, he could exhibit his paintings for all cyberspace, or just stock pictures of them privately for posterity. As I left (having hoped I had reached the tenth free session, but found to my chagrin that I was only on number 9), I wrote down for him the address of the Promo'Arts blog and suggested he might like to have a look the next time he had the opportunity. He was most pleased and said he would. I may have another convert on my hands, and, better still, maybe another member for our association. I'll have to nip back with a brochure...
Just as long as he doesn't ask to exhibit...
Showing posts with label Jean Vallon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jean Vallon. Show all posts
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Friday, December 29, 2006
Hair Today
In preparation for the New Year festivities in the UK, I paid a visit to my coiffeuse, Véro, chez Jean Vallon on Wednesday. It's a place I've been frequenting on and off for many years now. At one point though, I spurned the camp zebra-print sofa provided while you wait for a service à domicile with Crystelle, who staggered along the unfinished paths to my doorstep with her equipment.
She was a lot cheaper than the salon, and we had a good old natter while waiting for the colour to take, but she is so successful that you have to be pretty well organised about booking her in advance. Unfortunately, I'm the 'oh my god, I've got to get my hair done this week or bust' type, which meant I was forever being told kindly but firmly that she was unavailable. At which point I would revert to Véro who could always fit me in somewhere.
So now I've accepted the inevitable. I rang the salon on Tuesday afternoon for an appointment the next afternoon and was fitted in as smoothly as a well-kept hand into a silk glove.
We hear a lot about morose French service industry workers, but in Jean Vallon they are a cheery, smiley bunch who always make you feel you are a good client, which I am. Véro cuts hair, so another nice girl did the colour and I was able to admire her tiny French frame and the way her belt seemed able to suspend itself on her hips without working its way up, or down.
Next to me was a scene of intense activity. A young woman in her early 20s was turning from a brunette into a blond. This involved several stages of work. Her hair had to be uncoloured and then coloured blond. It was taking ages. She was at the uncolouring stage when I joined her at the mirrors. Her mother was passing protective cotton wool strips to place at root level while the 'bleach' was applied and massaged into the long strands of hair.
My own colour applied, I sat and read 'Challenges' magazine instead of a trashy women's one because it had a section on what studies lead to jobs. So, for example, general engineers are 80% likely to get a good job on leaving university. Those doing media studies have a 39% chance of a job most of which will be through a temporary contract. I was reading with the RA and my eldest in mind as it also gave information on what makes a CV stand out from the banality of most.
Back at the mirror, Ms Decap was standing up to make her way to the basins. It took a long time for her to do this as her legs emerged as being very long, perched as they were on 4 inch heels, with a very very short flimsy skirt over thick patterned tights. A thought flitted across my mind that my mother would have blown a gasket had I appeared in such an outfit, so obviously her mother, who was sitting admiring her daughter as she strode over to the basins, had a laxer attitude than mine...
I was by now sitting on the cutting side of the room. The hot water had run out just before the conditioner on my hair was washed off, so I had to endure a chilly rinse which froze me to the core. I sat, warming up, while Véro snipped, and watched, fascinated while Ms Decap had her hair dried. It had come out a virulent orange yellow and she gawped at it, horrified, holding her nose, maybe to stop herself snorting. I tell you, it was most entertaining.
Her coiffeuse was not in the slightest perturbed as it was completely normal for brown hair to decolour like this. Had she left it like that, she could have made a fortune on street corners. Still, it had to be blondified, so she went back to the colouring side of the room to have the 'bleach' applied, and when I left, she was still waiting for it to take.
She would look extremely stunning when it was finished, I'm sure. With those legs, and long blond hair, she'd drive many men wild, which I'm sure was the aim. She would be all set to have a fantastically fun New Year!
My more modest cut and colour were beautifully executed as usual even though the girls were extremely busy, had been working last Sunday and would be working this Sunday too. I am very excited by the fact that I have been there now 9 times, so next time I go, I'll get a free session.
I did envy those legs though...
She was a lot cheaper than the salon, and we had a good old natter while waiting for the colour to take, but she is so successful that you have to be pretty well organised about booking her in advance. Unfortunately, I'm the 'oh my god, I've got to get my hair done this week or bust' type, which meant I was forever being told kindly but firmly that she was unavailable. At which point I would revert to Véro who could always fit me in somewhere.
So now I've accepted the inevitable. I rang the salon on Tuesday afternoon for an appointment the next afternoon and was fitted in as smoothly as a well-kept hand into a silk glove.
We hear a lot about morose French service industry workers, but in Jean Vallon they are a cheery, smiley bunch who always make you feel you are a good client, which I am. Véro cuts hair, so another nice girl did the colour and I was able to admire her tiny French frame and the way her belt seemed able to suspend itself on her hips without working its way up, or down.
Next to me was a scene of intense activity. A young woman in her early 20s was turning from a brunette into a blond. This involved several stages of work. Her hair had to be uncoloured and then coloured blond. It was taking ages. She was at the uncolouring stage when I joined her at the mirrors. Her mother was passing protective cotton wool strips to place at root level while the 'bleach' was applied and massaged into the long strands of hair.
My own colour applied, I sat and read 'Challenges' magazine instead of a trashy women's one because it had a section on what studies lead to jobs. So, for example, general engineers are 80% likely to get a good job on leaving university. Those doing media studies have a 39% chance of a job most of which will be through a temporary contract. I was reading with the RA and my eldest in mind as it also gave information on what makes a CV stand out from the banality of most.
Back at the mirror, Ms Decap was standing up to make her way to the basins. It took a long time for her to do this as her legs emerged as being very long, perched as they were on 4 inch heels, with a very very short flimsy skirt over thick patterned tights. A thought flitted across my mind that my mother would have blown a gasket had I appeared in such an outfit, so obviously her mother, who was sitting admiring her daughter as she strode over to the basins, had a laxer attitude than mine...
I was by now sitting on the cutting side of the room. The hot water had run out just before the conditioner on my hair was washed off, so I had to endure a chilly rinse which froze me to the core. I sat, warming up, while Véro snipped, and watched, fascinated while Ms Decap had her hair dried. It had come out a virulent orange yellow and she gawped at it, horrified, holding her nose, maybe to stop herself snorting. I tell you, it was most entertaining.
Her coiffeuse was not in the slightest perturbed as it was completely normal for brown hair to decolour like this. Had she left it like that, she could have made a fortune on street corners. Still, it had to be blondified, so she went back to the colouring side of the room to have the 'bleach' applied, and when I left, she was still waiting for it to take.
She would look extremely stunning when it was finished, I'm sure. With those legs, and long blond hair, she'd drive many men wild, which I'm sure was the aim. She would be all set to have a fantastically fun New Year!
My more modest cut and colour were beautifully executed as usual even though the girls were extremely busy, had been working last Sunday and would be working this Sunday too. I am very excited by the fact that I have been there now 9 times, so next time I go, I'll get a free session.
I did envy those legs though...
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