Complete and Utter Freedom at the Hair Salon

I’m convinced that when I’m having my hair colored, highlighted, and cut at the salon, that I’m in a “free-zone” and I’m untouchable, except, of course, by my sensational stylist, Aubrey. Only she is permitted to talk to me and touch me. No incoming calls or catastrophes are allowed in through that salon door. I’m safe inside a neutral ground and enemies must be kept at bay.

It’s my own personal liberation. I have no need for my cell phone, and at times, I ignore it completely for the two-plus hours I am there. Freeing myself of that device—and more importantly, not caring about it—offers me a sense of rebirth. I can survive without it. I am able to ignore the vibrations that are occurring in my purse which sits at my feet as my head is submerged in hot water with wonderfully smelling shampoos and conditioners cleansing my scalp and hair.

I typically have only two concerns when I’m there:

(1) What shade should we go for on that particular day because I rarely repeat the same color twice, and

(2) Does the salon have enough People Style-Watch magazines so I can indulge my guilty pleasure?

This sense of liberty is indeed calming. I’m quite sure our Founding Fathers felt much the same way during their quest for independence as I do whilst I am there. It’s complete and utter freedom. I don’t have to make dinner. I don’t have to drive someone to practice. I am exempt from assisting with homework or chores or grading papers. The list is quite endless, you see.

And what’s amazing is that I find I have the remarkable capacity to do absolutely nothing at all but enjoy the scalp massage or watch the Redken fashion show video on the television. I need very little when I’m there. I decompress so completely, that I wish my doctor would appear with his blood pressure gizmo and take my pulse at that particular moment. I’m not a gambling woman, but I’d bet the mortgage it would be WAY LOW. A catatonic state of relaxation, the doctor would write on my chart.

When the haircut is over and my hair is dried and styled, I’m told that I’m done. I get emotional. “Don’t make me leave!” I want to shout. “Can’t you understand? I’m in the neutral zone. No one can get to me here!”

But it’s useless. I pay my tab and exit the salon, leaving the whir of blow dryers behind me as I walk into the night air. My pulse begins to return to what it was just two hours earlier and I think about what lies ahead. The dishes await, there are bills to pay, and I’ve got a blog to write.

What will the subject be tonight, I wonder.


  • Mom

    I always tell Peter (my personal fav) that he has the best job in the world…women come in to his salon looking and feeling drab and unappealing, and they walk out with a smile on their faces and feeling as if Julia Roberts has serious competition. How many career types have that kind of impact on their clients?

    By the way, I meant to tell you your hair was looking MIGHTY FINE when I picked up the kids yesterday.
    A hug.

  • Rachel

    Haha, I love this! That’s exactly my feeling at the hair salon! I wish I could go there just for them to wash my hair even. It’s the best time to be a girl and talk about anything. Getting my hair done soon! Sticking with the blonde.

  • Currie

    Love Aubrey! I know you will answer your phone for me though? Maybe I should move to the salon since I am always in need of a “time out”! Fun post!

  • cherylklein

    I know exactly what you mean. For me it’s the airport. Most people probably don’t think of the airport as a relaxing place, but I love getting there early, reading tabloids and eating snacks. I don’t need to get anything productive done because I’m already *doing* my productive thing, which is traveling.

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