Michael was my colourist. He took me from being a blonde to a strawberry blonde to a ginger. None of those colours are my natural colour. My natural colour is “dirty blonde” (I didn’t name it.) Sometimes I think about returning to my natural colour, but ginger is well-suited for me. Although I had been seeing him for ten years, I didn’t know much about him. I’m not chatty and neither was he. After catching up, small talk, and a discussion of what I would like and what he thought would work with my skin tone I would sit silently and watch him work. He was an artist. Hair was his medium. I loved to watch him work – the way he carefully selected pieces of hair to highlight, the speed with which his fingers glided through my hair, the way he’d disappear into his work. There’s nothing more enjoyable than watching someone do what they’re good at, and he was a master. He knew what colour would look good with your skin tone, and he knew what colour would look great. He always steered you towards what would make you look great. What made Michael great was not his gift for colour. What made him great was how he made you feel about yourself. He didn’t do anything special. He was just himself and that was more than enough. Michael always made me feel beautiful. For that reason I was loyal to him. I followed him each time he moved to a new salon. I had to find a new stylist each time, but it was a small price to pay. In the last 3 years, the quality of his work wasn’t the same. The colour would wash out after one one wash (not completely, but enough to make me think I had a head wound while in the shower). One time the colour “bled” while I was working out at the gym. He’d forget to seal the colour. But, I continued to see him. I would tell him what happened. He’d say, “That’s weird. That shouldn’t happen.” Sometimes he’d fix the problem, and sometimes he wouldn’t. Then, he started coming late to appointments – somewhere between 30 to 60 minutes late. I always carry a book with me, so waiting was never a problem. He always apologized. I understand 3 years is a long time to tolerate this situation, but 1) I like Michael, and 2) I don’t have my hair cut and coloured as often as it is recommended. A friend told me that her colorist told her that Michael was losing clients because what was happening with me had happened to them. The community of colourists and stylists is small - as is true with all communities of specialists - everybody knows what’s happening with everybody else. April of last year was the last time I saw him. He arrived a half-hour late. He told me his dog had recently passed away. I gave him my condolences. We discussed a colour, he went to work, handed me off to the stylist. In the end the colour was wrong. It was beautiful, but it was not what we discussed. I told him it was beautiful, I thanked him for the colour, and tipped the usual amount. However beautiful it was, I was not happy with it. That’s when I decided to stop seeing Michael. It was hard decision. I knew something was wrong because this behavior was not like him, but I could no longer justify paying for a service with which I wasn’t satisfied. On Monday, my friend had her hair cut and colored. Her colorist said, “Did you hear about Michael? He was diagnosed with stage IV cancer.” Michael didn’t know he had cancer until he was given that diagnosis before Christmas. He tried to return to work after the diagnosis, but he couldn’t handle the work anymore. Sometimes you think you know what a person is going through because you see: X, Y, & Z. But, X, Y, & Z can mean different things in different people. Sometimes the person doesn’t even know what they’re going through. There are a number of ways I could have interpreted his actions over the years. I could have walked out on him after the first mistake. I’m glad I stayed and kept giving him chances. In Michael’s case, I wish X, Y, & Z meant that he no longer wanted to be a colourist.
Posted on: Thu, 13 Mar 2014 06:06:48 +0000
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