Breaking-up with your hairdresser — revealing the actual reason why I did it!

When I recently broke up with my hairdresser, it came after a lot of soul searching. It always does. The old “is it me, is it them’” is so powerful at keeping the inertia alive and well. You think, it’s convenient, there’s parking, I can’t risk somebody else stuffing up my colour. 

Until there’s a breaking point. 

I’d tolerated being passed over for influencers who never paid for my stylists’ services because it was seen to be great publicity—even though I was the one actually paying to keep the hairdryer plugged in and the hair straightener straightening. 

That’s a topic for another day because what really ended the relationship fueled by sav blanc at any time of the day, Chappell Roan on Spotify and recommendations for new Netflix shows was something that is often revered on many stylist’s Instagram posts.

It was his stupid cavoodle named Alfie.

I am not a dog person and I always leave my cat at home rather than inflict her on other people. I don’t know who is allergic to her, and just because I think she can be cute doesn’t mean others do too. I’m considerate in a very inconsiderate society.

When I go to the hairdresser, after claiming my time away from the clients who need before and after photos of their face framing bangs taken in front of a ring light and an iPhone, I want my hair done. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m even happy to pass on the wine. 

What I don’t want is to be bowled over by a dog who is apparently just happy to see me. I don’t need them to sit on my bag, or my feet. I don’t need my nostrils to be permeated with the odour of unwashed dog hair. And I especially don’t need them to jump onto my lap when I am getting my hair washed. 

The last time that happened I was holding my glasses which unfortunately didn’t survive the display of “affection”. They broke and not long after, so did our relationship. 

Needless to say, having cuddles with a salon dog is not a strong call to action for me. It doesn’t get me over the line to pay for a keratin treatment. 

The problem is made even worse when multiple hairdressers at the salon bring their own dogs. Between three dogs, six babies and four prams there is hardly any space to plug in a GHD. Let alone the ring light. 

It’s not just a question of being intolerant of this because of my age. I value my time and my personal space as well as my clothes remaining free of dog hair. Cat hair, well that’s on me.

So I have moved on and found a beautiful salon where instead of the inconvenience I receive a welcome massage, minimal conversation and there is still wine if I want it. I actually get my hair tended to the way I arranged when I made the booking. My glasses have remained intact. I just wonder how long it will be until the influencers catch on and follow me. 

And as for my ex and Alfie, I saw on an Instagram post that not long after I moved on for somebody else, they closed their business and went to work for a hair care company. I guess that corporate life might mean leaving Alfie home, ironically. And also probably a sign that I was the last paying customer to tell them, actually it isn’t me, it’s you. 

And your dog.