Before my dreams were realised and I became a part of the British film industry's paid workforce, I was a lowly intern, scraping by on a mere handful of pennies each month. All unnecessary expenses were jettisoned, which included trips to the hairdressers. Sadly, I do not posess the sort of barnet which can go for that long without care and attention. I'm a natural blonde, which means less bouncing golden mane, more limp, lifeless strands of dullness.
One day, meandering home through Oxford Circus, I was accosted by an eastern European girl brandishing a Vidal Sassoon business card. For £12, she told me, I could get a cracking hair cut at a snip of its value (geddit?!? Snip. Ahaha). She would be supervised by her professor, who was a director of the salon, and therefore it would be top-class quality for very little money. And it would only take an hour. And yes, I could just have a trim. So being the sort who doesn't look a gifthorse in the mouth, and looking not unlike a horse at the time, I (admittedly cautiously) said yes.
Firstly, it didn't take an hour. It took the better part of three. I had stressed from the get-go that I was there on my lunchbreak and could therefore only be gone for 60mins, but they couldn't care less. Yes, they are students and yes, it takes time, but don't promise what you can't provide. Secondly, the "supervision" was sorely limited. The big boss ended up overseeing a large part of my haircut, but this was only because he entirely missed the first half of the proceedings, and on his preliminary check, nearly fell over when he saw how she was manhandling my locks. My heart sank when I saw him demonstrate how she *should* have been holding the sections before chopping, as opposed to how she *had* been doing it. So it came as no surprise when, attempting to engage her in conversation, I asked my student stylist how long the course lasted. "Two years," she responded, "And I've been here three days". WHAT?!?!? GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY HAIR!!!!
Sadly, by this point there was nothing to be done but wait it out. Later on, she attempted the classic hairdresser move where they simultaneously run both hands down the strands on either side of your face in order to line up the lengths. Except when she did it, her hands moved at entirely different speeds and even to my untrained eye, the difference of nearly an inch (no word of a lie!) was painfully obvious.
The supervisors have a policy of not getting physically involved with their students' cuts, but he had to take over the styling process going on with another customer, and I could see him itching to grab the scissors from my girl. In the end, he stood breathing down her neck for 30 minutes whilst she tried to rectify her many mistakes. Perhaps I was there on a particularly duff day, but it was not a happy experience. It's ridiculously cheap, but you pay the price in the loss of confidence and the inevitable follow-up at your regular salon. Don't do it. Save your money, save your hair, save yourselves! read more