Made with Love

There are moments in my career, or in life really, that help me refocus on what’s important, and help define my passion and what type of stylist I want to become. One moment has followed me for years, and really taught me a lot about how deep my personal connection to my job is.

I had just finished working a really exciting and beautiful Thakoon show for New York Fashion Week a few seasons ago, and I was feeling great about how it had gone, but relieved to be sitting and decompressing in a taxi. As the buildings flew by, I was recapping the frantic prep time and hectic backstage energy in my mind, and a passing image stuck out for a minute. I had noticed a model crying because her head hurt from the last show. These poor girls run all over the city doing show after show with no idea of what's going to be done to their head, whether that's extensions or spray paint. The stylists at my Kerastase show would never do anything rough or painful to her, we're like the holy grail of hair-health and concern for models (I meeean who else would care about heat protection backstage?! I love it), but she had had enough of being touched and it was obvious. Generally I like working on models. They're professional and paid to be opinion-less creatively, which is a strange but fun contrast to what I'm used to day to day in a salon. It's never fun to work on someone who's unhappy, though. So much of what I love about my job is making people feel good, even more so than making them look good. This was the day I realized how intensely I mean that.

I got back to the hotel and noticed I had a voicemail from a client. Usually I don't give out my personal number, but this client and I had gotten close over the years and I told her to call me if she ever had trouble getting an appt, etc. She sounded strained in her message so I called her, even though I was packing and distracted. As soon as she told me why she had called I stopped what I was doing and gave her my full attention. When you have long term clients, especially ones you do time-consuming color services on, you get to know a lot about their lives. This client in particular, “Erica", we'll pretend her name is, has a sharp wit and a tongue to match, and I think she's hilarious. When she first came to me a few years ago, she was newly pregnant and in love with her husband and I heard so much about her wonderful life and was so happy for her. Since then I've slowly watched her marriage deteriorate from behind my chair, and each visit I was more and more hesitant to ask how things were going. It was like I was looking into little windows of her life every eight weeks, and each time she seemed sadder and more exhausted. This update was different and much worse though. Things had exploded between them, to the point of him attacking her violently, and then emptying their bank accounts. She was still in shock and she started to cry as she told me what had happened. She told me she was calling to explain why she had to cancel her upcoming appointment. She didn't want me to think I had done anything wrong, but she couldn't even afford babyfood at this point, let alone me. 

"Well just come in anyway and let me take care of you this time, we'll figure it out after that," I said. She immediately protested and assured me that wasn't why she had called, she just hadn't wanted to disappear on me. But I was so angry for her, and for some reason the idea of her going and facing that asshole at her first court appointment with dark roots and split ends seemed so unjust it sickened me, especially after she had been such a loyal client and referred friends. I matter-of-factly told her to shut up and come in anyway (subtle, as always), because I might not to be able to fill her appointment slot with this little notice anyway, and then told her that after this appointment she was going to start coming to the assistant classes that I was an educator for, and I would give her one of the most advanced and talented assistants who I would train ahead of time and supervise, so that I could keep an eye on her hair indefinitely, and for much less money, until she got back on her feet. She started crying even harder and said something I will never forget… 

"How fucked up is it that my hairstylist cares more about me than my husband?”

I pretty much lost it soon after that and got off the phone so I could cry. 

That situation made me feel like no matter how dissatisfied or critical I can be of myself, my work or my career, I’m on exactly the path I want to be on. I want to be an artist, but I also want to contribute to other people, and put out love and positivity into an increasingly negative world, as cheesy as that sounds, and I’m in a career uniquely appropriate for that, especially in a salon, where I’m surrounded by other stylists each with hundreds of clients they connect with. If I focus only on the art, it will never be good enough for my crazy mind. I will always see that one backlit flyaway, or that damn bobby pin that shone through a curl in the flash and couldn’t be blended away by a hazy instagram filter. I will feel bored with braids my fingers still love but my eyes are sick of, or whatever pinterest picture I’m recreating for the 10th time on a bride, and I'll wish I were cutting a blue pixie instead. That type of intensity is good for creative growth but notsomuch for general life happiness. However, when I focus on the actual people I’m working on, when I see a face light up in the mirror or get texts or posts from clients weeks later sending love and continued excitement about their hair and confidence, or thanking me for the pressure I put on them to ask for the raise they deserved (Lean in, bitches!), that’s when I finally feel finished and fulfilled. A sweet bride/younger sorority sister whose wedding I worked recently told me she felt like I made her entire pinterest board come to life (which brides obsess over all year, no pressure though), and I was so flattered and happy she will always look at her pictures that way. Suddenly those updos and braids felt new and special to do again, because I knew they would be special to her. 

Now I know where I stand. I am not a stylist who makes models cry, and I never will be. I am still an artist for me, but I will never brattily poo-poo an updo as too “pretty” or too “bridal” like some of the editorial stylists I know, because I know how pretty hair feels to a woman, the challenge it is to replicate something someone has dreamed of forever, and the connection you feel to clients during important moments of their life. There will always be blue pixies, too. I saw Erica only a few times after that visit before she moved away for good, and changed her number. I still think about her and I’m still sending her love from behind my chair.

A Manly Man's Girly Girl

In some ways my father is a very traditional man. He works with wood for a living and judges my boyfriends if their hands are "too soft". He's probably never worked out in a gym, and couldn't care less about "glamour muscles," but is stronger than any man his age from 50 years of carrying sheets of plywood and installing custom cabinets. I have never seen his upper lip shaved. He made himself a huge potato gun for christmas last year with a handmade switch, and hairspray as an accelerant (his favorite present was a huge sack of potatoes and cheap hairspray from my mom- I refused to waste Kerastase on that). He scoffs at the idea of cologne and likes curvy, womanly actresses like Salma Hayek. (Although who doesn't?) When I was little, he would grab a beer after he got home from a long day at work, and I would curl up with him and watch tv, tell him about my day, and generally try to make him laugh with the dry/stupid humor I got from him. (Thanks to both my parents I will forever quote Mel brooks and Monty python movies, which no one my age appreciates.) As a result, the smell of sawdust and Corona will always make me think of him. He was horrified by the idea of tattoos and piercings on a girl, and the biggest battle I had with him growing up was whether or not my door was closed while my sweet and respectful high school boyfriend was over. We still debate whether that rule was necessary every few years. (It wasn't!) 

a rare flannel-free day

But, in some ways, my father is modern and progressive. He, along with my maternal grandfather, always made me feel like my opinion was valid, valuable even. I was always part of the conversation, taught about science and politics, and brought up to value my brain more than my body. He always wanted me to help him in his shop and wished I was more into fishing, and weekend trips to Home Depot with him were a regular thing until I got old enough to be uncomfortable being ogled. He is the reason I connect with male clients and friends easily. I appreciate their simplicity and transparency; a conversation with a man doesn't have as many layers of communication as one with a woman. you don't have to translate tone or meaning separate from their words. I don't assume men are out to hurt me, because he never did. (unless I'm in a dark alley, and then my 'law and order' education takes precedent.)

He thought I was imagining feeling like my legs and torso 

were wet the whole time, and still feels guilty about the leak :)

 I was a lot more into learning how to perfectly tie woolybugger flies for him! (indoor kid)

My dad has always had a bemused appreciation for my love of all things beauty-related. When I was about ten, he made me an awesome manicuring station with compartments for nail polishes, and I painstakingly labeled each one with corresponding swatches for my 'clients' to choose from. He may not have understood why I loved it, but he liked my intensity and perfectionism. He used to go crazy watching me diligently butter toast, but he recently laughed when I told him nowadays I never miss a gray hair! He appreciates what I do, just in an odd way. For years he refused to sit still long enough for his perfectionist daughter's barbering, so he went to supercuts and got regularly disfigured. He liked that they spray you down and he didn't have to lay in a shampoo bowl, and he had a girl there he loved to tell stories to about his daughter doing fancy hair in Los Angeles. He swears she enjoyed these bragfests, I'm not so sure. His hair might have been longer on one side on purpose. At some point my mother started cutting his hair in their kitchen again, as she had my whole childhood, and now that my eye is trained I realize what a natural she is, and that I should probably thank her for that talent. 

My father and I understand each other in a totally new way now, simply because we have found so many similarities between our jobs. We talk about building a business, dealing with clients, mixing colors/stains and painstakingly applying (we both have matching stained fingernails), having the courage to charge a lot of money for something because you've worked hard to be good at it, and caring about your reputation. He will always be my mentor when it comes to how to be responsible with money and how to be professional and approachable at the same time, how to be passionate (on the verge of obsessive) about an artistic project while maintaining your personal relationships. I may be covered in bleach instead of sawdust, but even in the most unlikely industry, I am still my father's daughter.

Hairstylist Boot Camp

So I've been procrastinating about writing about my trip to New York for Kérastase TECH team training, partly because blogging is hard and I severely underestimated my tendency to check out intellectually the second I get home and sit down after work, and partly because my head is still swimming over everything we learned. It was amazing as always to have so many talented artists in one room, and the energy was so passionate and positive it was infectious. This training was for us as a team to learn the looks we'll be teaching in Kérastase salons all over the country, but it also was a chance for us to focus on raising our own level of skill and artistry. Doing hair next to 80 handpicked talented stylists makes you really up your game, which is awesome.

Our first day I received this Giving Key bracelet, engraved with the word, "Fearless", signifying a promotion to Level 2 educator along with some of my favorite team members. I've had such a great experience working with Kérastase and it was really humbling and meaningful to me to move up and help facilitate teaching the training for the first time, though there were a few styles I was so immediately obsessed with I was itching to get my own hands in the hair! Patience, cray cray. 

Our gorgeous studio overlooking the Hudson river

The air thick with talent and hairspray!

I couldn't agree more, Mr. Steinbeck.

TECH Artist Sarah Day's beautiful sewn-in finger wave, from our amazing "Needle and Thread" sewing class. This was when my crazy side really started to set in. When our Artistic Director Nina Dimachki was showing how to sew this look into place, which I have attempted before less successfully in the past without a stitch that brilliantly encouraged the direction of the wave the way this one does, I was desperately holding back my 4th grade teacher's-pet self from shouting, "You're amazing!" Must. control. the cray.

Luxelab's new addition to the Kerastase team,  Tiffany from our Pasadena salon!

Dressing like Audrey for our icon costume party, "Decades and Do's". I
never in my life considered having baby bangs or a pixie until this night. 

If I had known Craig was doing Marilyn, I would have gone Dita!

I learned nothing freaks people out more than a random head in an airport. I must have looked like such a little goth high school nightmare, with my all black outfit, red lipstick and clutching a head by the hair. Got upgraded though, so it'll probably happen again.

All in all, it was an amazing, exhausting, wonderful trip that made me excited for this year and everything I get to teach, and everything I have yet to learn. It was such a whirlwind of work and energy, and when I got home I found myself really grateful for all of my opportunities, but also for living in LA and loving the stylists I work with everyday, not just the ones I visit throughout the year. The next weekend, while NYC was gearing up for the second Polar Vortex, I went beach camping and witnessed the most incredible January weather/sunset, and 2014 seemed very promising.

Dr. Sill's Office

When I went to Cosmetology school I told my parents I wanted to someday open up a salon that did hair and therapy. (‘Hairapy” it would be called, duhhh.) It seemed just LA enough to succeed- I pictured a spiraling starlet ripping out her extra-long extensions mid-session in distress and then immediately getting them redone, toy dog in lap, without the paparazzi outside any wiser. Now it’s pretty clear to me that this idea was just my chance to do what I had always secretly wanted to do for a living while pretending to combine the academic path I had always expected myself to take. As soon as I got into training as a stylist any other career ideas went straight out the window, though. Apparently it’s illegal to touch someone while you’re giving them therapy anyway, or something like that. I’ve clearly been very heavily researching.

Every female stylist has certain clients we regularly life-coach, advise, or encourage. (Male stylists, especially if they’re straight, can escape from much of this, although I’m sure have to deal with crazy in other ways. ) It becomes part of your relationship, and also part of what makes you irreplaceable to them. I originally wanted to be a marriage counselor, but was tired of school after I got my BA, so it’s appropriate that I found a way to still help people work out their problems and give advice that doesn’t have to be founded on anything but my still fairly ignorant gut opinion. Take that, Psychology Masters degree I thought about getting. 

Lately I’ve been playing therapist more than usual. There’s something in the water, or a full moon, or people are depressed from the holidays and the cold weather. (Is it insensitive to call it cold when most of the country is freezing and I’m currently sitting on my patio at night in flip flops and shorts and annoyed at my occasional goosebumps?)

I usually like hearing people’s secrets and drama; I get to watch a soap opera while I work and make people leave feeling better than they walked in. But, geez! In the last week (which personally wasn’t easy anyway), I had so many clients (some tearily) tell me about breakups, divorces, family feuds, abortions, deaths, and so on and on. Some of them were clients I just absolutely adore and it weighed on me more than I’ve ever noticed before.

So, it’s the perfect timing for Kerastase training in New York! I’m so excited to learn what we’re teaching for the year with some of my favorite hairstylists in the country! Only two more days. I guess I’ll wear bright red lipstick until then to improve my mood. Maybe start offering some Xanax with coffee. Solid plan, huh?