Hairstyles of the rich and famous

Why LA doesn't quite cut it.

Photo by J. Balla Photography on Unsplash

I’m not saying LA hairdressers should stick to dogs’ hair. I’m also not not saying that.

My two-year-old got her first haircut last week. We went to one of those 'kids' salons where they sit your child in their own little car as if they're at an amusement park. It's supposed to make the experience less scary for them. Maggie had never been on a fairground ride before (bar the time I took her on the carousel at The Los Angeles Zoo and she cried so much we didn't make it onto a horse; I just stood there holding her in my arms as the ride spun around and around and around for the longest three minutes of my life). And so, you can imagine how confused and upset she was, being lifted into a Batmobile before a complete stranger started hacking at her hair. 

I think I would be confused and upset. Because that's the thing about hair cuts. They can be pretty scary, whether you're two or 42. To quote the inimitable Fleabag, "Hair is everything!" And "It’s the difference between a good day and a bad day." Finding a regular hairdresser (or hairstylist, whatever you want to call them) can feel as daunting as embarking on a relationship. It requires trust and commitment. And like all relationships, there'll be ups and downs. There'll be rushes of excitement, annoying little bug bears and some serious heart to hearts.

I certainly like to think of my past hairdressers as if they are exes. I've always had a bit of a - for want of a better word - 'statement' hair cut. And as the style has evolved from white blonde pixie to asymmetric dirty blonde to a more relaxed (read: can't-be-arsed) natural blonde bob, so has my choice of hairdresser. Or maybe it's the other way around. 

Back in London, I had three long-term hair love affairs which all ended amicably. Usually when I moved house. If only all relationship break-ups were so straightforward, huh? 

The 'ex' etched on my memory is a guy in Camden who had a makeshift salon at the back of the vintage shop where his boyfriend worked. He was a proper artist who had worked at some highbrow salons and he was always full of cool ideas. I was in my twenties when we struck up a friendship, which never spilled over into real life, but I always enjoyed my Friday evening appointments. And not just because he would nip over the road for a bottle of wine of my choice. And after a couple of drinks I would go sifting through the rails of Biba and Mary Quant to find something to complement my new vintage-style haircut... They saw me coming, didn't they?

I was 'between' long-term hairdressers when we were preparing to move to Los Angeles and I specifically remember the reaction of the last person to cut my hair at a reputable London salon when I told him where I was moving to. "You'll have to come back here to get your hair done," he said. He wasn't joking.

What he was implying was that the skills of hairstylists in LA are a world away from London. In my *very basic* understanding, that's down to the training. In London, you will easily find cutting (excuse the pun!) edge hairdressers who have climbed the ranks in Paris or Milan in world-renowned salons or fashion circles. In LA - a town that generally priorities the pampering of pooches over persons - hairdressers will have had more generic training in cosmetology, which incorporates everything from make-up to nails to waxing. 

My takeaway? (Again - I'm no expert, this is merely my opinion) LA is saturated with mediocre hairdressers who know how to style just stepped-off-the-beach tresses but are less dependable when it comes to say, cutting a really good bob. I say this as someone who had multiple mediocre hair cuts when I first came to town because I didn't know where to look. 

There are, obviously, some incredible celebrity-endorsed salons in LA. But when your budget is more Bakersfield than Bel Air; more Ralphs than Erewhon, finding 'the one' feels hopelessly futile. You could, in fact, say (it's that time again, it's the Clueless quote of the week!) it's like "searching for a boy in high school. It's as useless as searching for meaning in a Pauly Shore movie."

I've never had a bad hair cut in LA, I'd just never had one I felt really good about. I wasn't expecting wine and bants, I just wanted to find someone who 'got' my hair, who didn't see my bob as quirky or novelty in a "OMG, you’re like Anna Wintour!" way (yes, someone actually said that to me, in case you needed further proof that angelenos do not understand bobs!)

I wanted to find somewhere like Spoke & Weal, an innovative salon famous for its dry cuts and suitable for a whole range of budgets, which my West Hollywood residing friend Sophie eventually introduced me to. It was a revelation. And when I met my hairstylist, Krystal, it was love at first sight.

And not just because she knows her way around a pair of scissors. But for a whole host of reasons I'll get to when I ask her all the questions I've always wanted to ask her when she cuts my hair - but I'm too busy talking to ask! I think the buzzword for it is ‘trauma dumping’. But we’ll get to that next week…