It Was Never Really About the Hair
Every six weeks, without giving it much thought, I found myself pulling into the same little car park.
Hair appointment day.
It’s become one of those rhythms in life that quietly sneaks onto the calendar without needing a reminder. Six weeks seems to be exactly the right amount of time for my hair to transform from reasonably respectable to looking as though it’s been making decisions without consulting me. Grey hairs appear with remarkable confidence, and somehow the back always looks much worse than I imagine it does.
I’ve been going to the same hairdresser for quite a few years now. It’s a small salon run by a husband and wife, and over time they’ve become more than the people who cut my hair. We chat about work, holidays, families, the weather, and whatever else has happened since my last visit. They’re warm, welcoming and genuinely kind people, and walking through the door always feels familiar.
Like most regulars, I know exactly where to hang my bag, where I’ll be sitting, and even which mug my coffee usually arrives in. It’s comfortable in the nicest possible way.
Hair appointments aren’t exactly cheap these days, and every six weeks I hand over my credit card with a tiny wince, quickly reminding myself that looking presentable is apparently an investment.
Even so, I’ve never really questioned going back.
Until one appointment changed something.
Not because of my haircut.
Because of something much harder to fix.
The Day Everything Changed
This appointment, though, felt different almost from the moment I walked through the door.
Everything started as it always did. I hung my bag in the same place, settled into my usual chair and chatted about what had been happening since my last visit. It all felt comfortably familiar.
Then, instead of my regular hairdresser tying the cape around my neck, his wife stepped over with a smile.
Now, I’d seen her helping around the salon plenty of times over the years. She always seemed to be doing something – answering the phone, making coffees, looking after the beauty room or helping wherever she was needed. I honestly wasn’t even sure whether she was a qualified hairdresser, but I assumed everything was under control. After all, this was their business, and I’d trusted them for years.
We chatted away while she mixed my usual colour. Or at least, what I thought was my usual colour. With the amount of money I’ve spent over the years convincing my increasingly enthusiastic grey hairs to behave themselves, you’d think they’d show a little gratitude.
About halfway through applying it to my hair, something changed.
My hairdresser wandered over, glanced into the colour bowl and frowned. He stirred it with his fingers for a second, looked at it again, then quietly asked his wife to come out the back.
That was it.
No explanation.
No reassuring smile.
Just the two of them disappearing through the doorway.
I sat there staring at my reflection, wearing a black cape and a growing sense of unease.
I had absolutely no idea what had happened.
But I knew enough to realise that whatever it was… it wasn’t supposed to happen.
I Said Absolutely Nothing – There was no communication
A little while later my hair was rinsed, washed and I was back in the chair.
My regular hairdresser wandered over, gave the ends a quick trim, dried it off and spun the chair around for the grand reveal.
Nothing was said.
Not about whatever had happened with the colour bowl.
Not about the quiet conversation out the back.
Nothing at all.
I looked in the mirror, tilting my head from one side to the other like I was trying to solve a mystery. Hairdressing mirrors and salon lighting have never been known for their kindness, so I found myself wondering if it was just the bright lights playing tricks on me.
But the more I looked, the more I realised I wasn’t imagining it.
My hair was definitely darker.
Now, anyone who has spent years and a small fortune convincing stubborn grey hairs to masquerade as blonde will understand that this wasn’t exactly the look I’d been aiming for. I’d invested enough money over the years to think those grey hairs should at least send me a Christmas card.
For a moment I thought about saying something.
Then my brain immediately came to their defence.
“Maybe it’ll lighten after a few washes.”
“It’s just because it’s freshly dried.”
“Don’t be difficult.”
Isn’t it funny how quickly we can become our own customer service department, answering complaints that nobody has even made yet?
So I smiled, thanked them both, handed over my credit card for exactly the same amount I always pay, and walked out.
As I climbed into my car, I realised I wasn’t driving home wondering why my hair was darker.
I was wondering why I hadn’t said a single word.
The Problem With Nice People
Since then, quite a few people have asked me the same question.
“Why didn’t you just say something?”
It’s a fair question.
To be honest, I’ve asked myself exactly the same thing more than once.
The truth is, I don’t really know.
I’m not someone who enjoys complaining, and this wasn’t a case of bad service or someone who simply didn’t care. They are genuinely lovely people. I’d been going there for years, we’d shared countless conversations, and I honestly believed whatever had happened was an honest mistake.
Besides, what was I supposed to say?
“It’s too dark.”
Well… yes, it was. But the colour was already on my head. It wasn’t as though they could wave a magic wand and put it back in the bowl.
The more I thought about it, the more complicated it became. I wasn’t worried about hurting their business or demanding a refund. I was worried about making two nice people feel bad.
Isn’t that funny?
Somewhere along the way I’d decided their feelings were more important than my disappointment.
Looking back now, I wonder how many of us do exactly the same thing. We stay quiet in restaurants when the meal isn’t quite right. Smile politely when an order gets mixed up. We convince ourselves it doesn’t really matter because we don’t want to make someone else’s day harder.
I’ve been thinking about that ever since.
Because I don’t think the hardest part was walking out with darker hair.
I think the hardest part was realising how easily I’d talked myself out of having an honest conversation.
I’ve Been Wondering About That
I’ve been thinking about that appointment ever since.
Not because my hair was darker. Hair grows, colours fade and, thankfully, hairdressers invented foils for a reason. In the grand scheme of life, it really wasn’t that big a deal.
What stayed with me was the conversation that never happened.
I read something fascinating a little while ago about difficult conversations. Apparently, when we genuinely like someone, our brains will often work surprisingly hard to protect the relationship. Rather than risking an awkward moment, we start looking for reasons why maybe it doesn’t matter quite as much as we first thought.
Looking back, that’s exactly what I did.
I blamed the salon lighting. Tried convincing myself it might lighten after a few washes. I told myself it wasn’t worth making a fuss. Before I’d even reached my car, I’d become remarkably good at explaining away my own disappointment.
The funny thing is, none of those thoughts were really about my hair.
They were about two lovely people I’d come to know over the years. I didn’t want to embarrass them. Hated the thought that i would make them uncomfortable. I certainly didn’t want to become “that customer.” So, without even realising it, I quietly decided that protecting their feelings mattered more than expressing my own.
I wonder how often we do that.
Not just at the hairdresser, but with friends, family, neighbours or the local café where they accidentally make the wrong coffee but remember your name.
Sometimes staying quiet feels like the kinder option.
But I’ve been wondering ever since whether kindness and honesty really have to be opposites.
Or whether the strongest relationships are actually the ones that have room for both.
Maybe Next Time – My communication will be kind
So, what happened next?
Well… absolutely nothing.
I haven’t gone back to the salon, but I haven’t found a new hairdresser either. I’m somewhere in that awkward space in between, where every six weeks I think, “I really should book an appointment,” and then quietly decide I’ll leave it another week.
Meanwhile, my grey hairs have taken my indecision as a sign they’ve won. They seem to be multiplying with a level of confidence I can only admire.
The funny thing is, the more time that’s passed, the more I’ve realised I probably should have said something.
Not because I wanted my money back.
Not because I wanted anyone to get into trouble.
Simply because I think those two lovely people deserved the chance to know how I felt.
Maybe they would have fixed it.
Would they have apologised.
Maybe nothing would have changed at all.
But I’ll never know, because I never gave them the opportunity.
I’ve been wondering whether that’s true of more than just hair appointments.
Sometimes we stay quiet because we think we’re protecting a relationship, when in reality we’re quietly creating distance instead. The other person carries on believing everything is fine, while we slowly step away.
Perhaps honesty, when it’s wrapped in kindness, doesn’t damage good relationships at all.
Perhaps it gives them the chance to become even stronger.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really should go and find a new hairdresser… or perhaps be brave enough to walk back into the old one.
My grey hairs are becoming far too confident for my liking.
