My Bitchy Hairdresser

Up until now, I’ve been writing chronologically about our journey to France, beginning with the planning stages which started back in 2018.  I will get back to it in a bit.  It’s been good for me to revisit the whole experience from the beginning, but for now, I feel like writing about something else a little more current.  

We have forged many interesting relationships since living in France. – so  many encounters and experiences with so many different people – mostly good.  And although there are other, more meaningful encounters I could share, I’m going to start with the story of my bitchy hairdresser. 

Before I left San Diego, I made sure I got as spruced up as possible by my dear friend and longtime, extremely talented hairstylist, April.  Many people probably understand just how vital it is to find your perfect hair person, so this was just another thing on my giant list of things to worry about for when I got to France.  Since our journey took several weeks, I was able to get another color touch-up in North Carolina – by my Mom, who also is a  very gifted hairstylist. But even so, by the time we were ready to leave New York in January 2020, I was already having to manage my gray roots myself….the horror!  

So, upon arrival  in France, in addition to all of the other vital things to do, like getting our visa requirements in order, finding a bank, buying a car, insurance, etc., etc., etc., finding a new hairdresser was very high on the list of priorities.  Thankfully, my friend Anne was able to get me into her hairdresser.  Valerie is a lovely, lovey young woman – so sweet and friendly despite our vast language barrier.  We would try to talk and laugh and laugh.  She was a true artiste.  Hers was quite a meticulous process – 3 hours to apply multiple colors, foils, extended hair masque treatment, hair cut and styling.  

I saw Valerie before the first  Covid lockdown and then months later after the lockdown ended, I went back.  In those early, scary days when we were all double-masked, freaked out,  and only 2 people were allowed in the salon at a time,  but these were desperate times!  My “Covid Stripe” was starting to take over my entire head – so much so in fact, that I actually considered going au natural and embracing the gray and attempt to grow old gracefully.  Yeah, no…..not happening, couldn’t do it.  I really try hard not to fall prey to vanity, but looking in the mirror is already a challenge for me and hair dye is such an easy way to boost my self esteem.

Sadly, after a few visits with delightful Valerie, she announced that she was going to sell her shop and move on to something new.  Oh no!  I was very happy for Valerie to be able to follow her heart and of course I wished her well.  But damn it!  With all the challenges I was already facing living in a foreign country during a world wide pandemic, this was very distressing indeed! 

In October 2020, we moved in to our new (ancient) house in the small town of Beaulieu Sur Dordogne.  It’s funny, in France, even in the tiniest of villages, you can be sure to find hair salons.  Other important services may be missing, but  hair salons are plentiful!  In our little town of 1200 people, we have four hair salons and one barber!

Soon after we moved in, I went on a little walking mission to find a new hairdresser.  I am pretty particular about my color so just walking in cold to an unfamiliar salon, in a new town, with abysmal French language skills seemed like quite a risk, but what choice did I have?  The gray stripe was expanding at an alarming rate so I was in dire need.

On the main street of our town, Rue Genèral de Gaulle, I popped in to Harmonie Coiff.  In my best, but terrible French and with Google Translate at the ready, I asked for an appointment.  I pointed and pantomimed and somehow got my needs communicated – but then, with the tell-tale gray stripe, I’m sure it wasn’t too much of a stretch to figure out what I needed.  It was an awkward encounter, as  most of mine still were at that point and in a foolish attempt to be friendly, I asked her name.  I asked for her first name in my limited French, which I should have known that was a social blunder, since even in the most casual situations, in France Madame and Monsieur  is most commonly used.  She looked at me like I sprouted a second head and said a name,  which – to this day – I still don’t know what she said.

A few days later, I went back for my scheduled appointment.  I was a little nervous because I had no idea what to expect. I showed her a photo of my hair just after my last color/cut in San Diego. She said a lot of things in rapid-fire French and I was just praying that she was saying she understood what I wanted. 

English speakers are nearly nonexistent in this part of France and at this point, I was just barely able to ask for a baguette at the patisserie or find out where the bathrooms are and not much else. Casual conversation was definitely out of the question, but me being me, I made yet another clumsy attempt to be friendly, and asked in my very best French – which I had carefully rehearsed in my head – “Vouz habitez à Beaulieu?” (“Do you live in Beaulieu?”), to which she replied “non”.  That’s it, “non”, and not another word.  Ummmm ok, I guess I’ll just sit here and stare at the TV (which was playing American pop music videos) and shut my yapper.   

So, I sat there in silence, helpless and at her mercy. She was all abrupt business, making no attempt to talk to me.  She was slapping on the dye and wrapping he segments of my hair in foil at a speed I had never witnessed before.  She had all the color and highlighting bleach on my head in about 15 minutes!  When she left me to allow the color/bleach to sit, I texted Skip to express my grave concern about how this was all going to turn out. I  realized I had no choice but to to sit there and breathe and tell myself that that no matter the result, it was just hair and it would grow out, right?

I continued to sit quietly with my foiled head and hoped for the best, and after another 15 minutes or so – all the while she was chatting all friendly-like with her other clients, with her mask pulled down under her nose (these were still strict masking days).  Oy vey.

Then she barked at me in French and gestured to the sink, which I clearly understood and she very vigorously rinsed the color out and and washed my hair and then told me to go sit back in the styling chair.  She made a scissors gesture, all the while speaking rapid French while I was trying desperately tell her to just cut a little because I was really rather scared of her at this point and I was questioning my sanity for getting myself in this precarious situation.  She cut my hair so fast, and looked completely  reckless and all I could do was watch with growing horror and wonder what kind of freak I was going to look like at the end of the ordeal.  Then she gestured to the hair dryer but by then I was truly ready to run out of there with wet hair, yet still trying to be the polite customer, I said yes.  She dried my hair with such speed and almost violent force – yanking my head around with her brush.  It was the craziest thing!  

And then, just mere minutes later, she was done.  Thank god!  She showed me the back of my hair with a hand mirror.  I took a minute to take a breath and survey her work.  And I’ll be goddamned!  My hair looked almost identical to the photo I showed her!  I could not believe what I was seeing!  I stumbled out of the shop in a daze – after 55 minutes.  55 minutes!  It was fastest, weirdest, awkward, most uncomfortable hair appointment in my life!  So crazy. 

I took my quick walk home and shard my experience with Skip.  After I was able to decompress and think about that stressful 55 minutes, I began to think of her kind of like a doctor- a skilled practitioner but with a terrible bedside manner.   I decided that I could tolerate her abrupt and unfriendly approach, especially since she was so fast and the results were  surprisingly good.

A few weeks later, I nervously went back to her shop to make another appointment to touch up the gray (I have to do almost everything in person because phone communication is a nightmare for me).  She was just as bitchy as before, rapidly speaking French to me even when I told her I didn’t understand and to “répétez lentement s’il vous plaît” (repeat slowly please”.  She seemed just as irritated with me as before, but I was willing to go through the torture again because, to me, the sacrifice was worth it.

This went on a few more times, still with my very awkward attempts at conversation, still using Google Translate and pantomiming to get my point across, and still trying to break the ice with her.  Each time I succeeded in speaking a little more, but it was still pretty uncomfortable.  I really do think it had a lot to do with the language barrier – she just didn’t seem to have the patience for me and maybe she felt awkward too.   Almost everyone else that I had met had been so kind and patient and often times amused.  I think most people appreciated our earnest attempts to communicate in French.  But I also think this is just her natural personality – kind of salty and well….bitchy.  But honestly, I’m really ok with that.

My husband, a real friendly and chatty guy, is definitely not as comfortable with this type of personality and communication style.  Based on my experience and since he may have been a little afraid of my lady he scouted out the other salons in town  and found a lovely, young and friendly woman just around the corner from our house.  After a few months, she  took some time off to have her baby, and when he began to desperately need a haircut, I suggested he go try my lady, because despite the bitchiness, she did a good job.  

With a bit of a laugh, I wished him good luck with just the teensiest bit of schadenfreude. I couldn’t wait to hear how his encounter was going to go!  A little while later, my happy, friendly husband comes bouncing back home to tell his tale.

Well……oh…my…god….I couldn’t have been more surprised!  He said she was so, so very friendly and practically preening!  All full of giggles and chatty French – not that he could understand it all, but she did make a point of showing him her tattoo on her chest!  She was so very proud because it was of an inspirational quote in English!  I mean, what?????   Clearly, she likes men much more than woman – or at least much more than me, but I was delighted and happy for my husband for having such an – ummm – interesting encounter.  I was absolutely astonished her totally unexpected behavior .  Really, I was in complete hysterics about the whole thing.  It truly made my day.

When the day arrived for his appointment and he happily went off to see his newest friend.  He came back a short time later, with what he exclaimed was THE WORST HAIRCUT HE’S EVER HAD….IN HIS LIFE! I mean, really….I could not have been more amused by this whole situation.  Needless to say, he said he’s never go back for another haircut.   It seemed you could have the nice hairdresser and the worst haircut, or the mean hairdresser and have a good one!  It was all just too damn funny.

Up until this point, every single time I’d go into her salon to make an appointment, she would asked me my name.  I really felt like this was just another way to show her annoyance with me.  I figured she had to know me by then since I am one of only two terrible French-speaking Americans in our tiny town (my husband being the other one) and I had been to her shop at least 10 times by then! 

However, ever since her happy encounter with my husband, she has became a little more tolerant with me – dare I say, maybe even a little friendly?  I once made a point to complement her on her clever chest tattoo (which is actually near her collarbone).  She did laugh a little but also looked a little embarrassed which was not my intention at all!  I really was just trying to make a little friendly conversation!  When will I learn? 

A couple of weeks ago, I was busy at home but really in desperate need of a grey stripe touch up.  I asked husband to go by her shop and make an appointment for me.  I sent him with a detailed note of what I needed and he happily went on his way.  He came back with tales of another funny encounter.  She had dyed her previously blonde hair red so, of course, my friendly husband had to complement her on her new look.  You can probably imagine her giggling delight!  She gladly scheduled an appointment for me and new exactly what I needed.

So now, in a complete turn around in our relationship, she now greets me by name with a smile and even tries to make some conversation with me – last time, she even asked me where I went on my vacation and appeared interested in my answer!  She still speaks rapid- fire French to me despite my pleas to speak slower but she also seems to be much more patient with my very halting speech.  She’ll even smile and wave at me when I walk by her shop now.  

The entire evolution of our relationship is so funny and interesting to me.  There are definitely more significant and important relationships and encounters to share and I will, but for now I will sign off.

As always, thanks for reading and allowing me this space to share my thoughts.  I do enjoy sharing my stories with you. 

❤️Lisa