I’ve done my share of salon hopping.  Sure, I’ve had a couple of great stylists that I’ve been blessed to find.  Anyone who has relocated understands that the search for a new stylist can be a daunting one.  It can be very difficult to find that stylist (or salon) that clicks.  Now that I’m in the process of transitioning to natural hair (again), I'm in the market for a salon that specializes in and promotes natural hair care.  Thinking back over the years, I’m now able to quickly deduce if I’ve stepped into the wrong salon.

1.  The receptionist isn’t at the front desk.
 
Have you ever walked into a salon and there was no receptionist to greet you?  You don’t know who your stylist is so you search the faces of the beauticians. They take tentative glances in your direction but no one greets you.  (Okay, so it doesn’t help that your hair might look like a mass of tumbleweed that hasn’t benefited from TLC in six months and they know they might have to work overtime to get you right.  Or is that just me?)  This has happened to me a couple of times and while I have no problem yelling out, “Hi I’m here to see Linda!  Linda?  Are you Linda?”  This isn’t how a professional salon should treat its customers.  Linda should be expecting you even if the receptionist is not. A simple acknowledgement to be with you in a moment is good enough for me.
 
2.  Hairstylist doesn’t speak English.
 
I went to a lovely hairstylist for six months.  It was a Dominican salon. I know.  Dominican salons traditionally use a method of hairstyling that can be too aggressive for a black woman's fragile hair.  I’ve learned a lot since then but back in the day I couldn’t resist the feel of my silky strands, the incomparable bounce and the featherweight feel of my hair.  You know where this story is going, right?  Humor me and pretend like you don’t.  My hair came out from the harsh chemicals and the heat from the blow dryer.  I stopped going to her and decided to go natural.  The lesson I learned is that I need to communicate my hair needs to my hairstylist, and in turn, she needs to communicate to me when it’s time to take a break from a particular style, even if it’s a protective style like braids or weaves.  At the end of the day, we must both have the same goal in mind: hair health.
 
3.  The hairstylist suggests a “trim” when you just had one two weeks ago.
 
Just run.  If you had a good trim recently, why subject yourself to a scissor-happy stylist who wants to show off her talents or collect a few extra bucks?  Here’s an easy way to determine if it’s time for a hair trim. 
 
4.  Disinfectants and licenses are hidden from plain view.
 
One sign of a professional salon is the visibility of stylists’ licenses and the use of Barbicide to disinfectant tools.  I feel a sense of comfort when I can see my stylist’s smiling face on her license.  I’d like to know that before she colors my hair she’s passed a state-mandated test first.  As far as disinfectants go, well,
 I’m leery of salons that don’t have any clear method of disinfection.  There are several infections you can contract from tools that haven’t been disinfected.  Thanks, but I’m not interested in getting any of them.
 
5.  The salon creates more smoke than a house fire.
 
I walked into a salon once and was seriously tempted to call the fire department.  I thought I’d mistakenly walked into a cigar lounge.  Stylists used the old-fashioned curling irons to give their client’s curls that could sustain through gale force wind.  The environment struck me as being the antithesis of promoting hair health.  I believe in burn, baby, burn, but only as it applies to the dance floor.  I cancelled my appointment.
 
How do you know when you’ve walked into the wrong salon or met the wrong stylist?

 
 

So there you are sitting in your hairstylist's chair. Perhaps it's been a minute seen you've seen her and you two can't stop gabbing. While she's tending to your hair, you commiserate about family drama, pontificate about Hollywood gossip, vent about the chick at work. The entire salon is buzzing with the sound of ladies laughing, dryers whirring, and perhaps even gospel music or old-school R&B playing overhead.

And then it happens.

The bell on the front door chimes. The door opens. In walks a guy. A black guy. Maybe he's an attractive black guy (you're single -- you take note.) And maybe he's not (you're single, times are hard -- you still take note.) He is dressed more like Denzel Washington's character from Training Day rather than his character in Mo' Better Blues. A hushed silence washes over the salon as though you're playing a reverse version of The Wave at a sports arena.

Imagine sitting in your stylist's chair as she gives you a new haircut.  You've shown her the exact style you want on your cell phone or magazine.  But now she's working from memory or requesting to see the picture again.  And when it's all done, it still isn't quite what you were hoping for.

Samsung Electronics may have solved this problem.  It has introduced an interactive mirror display.  The first-of-its-kind, 55-inch mirror has made its debut at LEEKAJA HAIRBIS’ Jamsil salon in Seoul, Korea.   It won't be long before you and your stylist can consult on various styles on the mirror and determine the best look for you.  Want your bob shorter with a bump or longer and straight?  You can pinpoint the style you want, check out latest news about the style, and then watch as it comes to life.

Pretty cool, huh?

Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm a little too possessive.  A little too clingy with my own hair.  I sat in my stylist's chair and watched as she put the finishing touches on my weave.  It was a thing of beauty.  Fourteen inches of Virgin Indian Remy that was so silky smooth I secretly wished I could swath my entire body in it and wear it like a fur coat.  But that would be weird.
 
I watched as Lisa (not her real name) flat ironed my new hair straight, meticulously ensuring that every strand was sufficiently seared at a thousand degrees.

"I love messy hair," I said, by way of warning, although she knew me well by now.

I love hair that is perfect," she countered. "Every single strand exactly where it should be."

Perfection is subjective, though, right?  Much like beauty is in the eye of the beholder?  I didn't argue.  I'd been with Lisa long enough to know how this tale would end.

"I'd like my hair to be curled lightly, so that the curls will fall."

"Your curls shouldn't fall," she replied.  "I'll do them tight so they last a few days."

I bit my lip.  I didn't want to bite me.  I wanted to bite her instead.  If I'd stated what I wanted, then what was there left to talk about?
 
When Lisa was done flat ironing my hair, she began to add curls.  I watched in awe as Lisa made sure that each curl was just so.  Part of the reason for my awe was that I didn't care.  Had I not made it clear that I loved messy hair?  Pretty sure half of Farrah Fawcett's fame had everything to do with her perfectly un-perfected hair.

I touched a curl.

"Stop it," she snapped. "It's not set."

WTF?  It's my hair.  My curl.  We were clearly having ownership issues.
 
It seemed as though Lisa spent as much time tweaking as she did styling.  When she was all done, my hair looked pretty damned good.  It was just missing one thing.

I shook my head from side to side like a woman trying to dislodge a rabid cat clinging to her hair.

"Why would you do that?" Lisa asked, not at all amused.

I smiled. "I needed to get it the way I like it.  Now," I said staring back at my reflection with satisfaction because every hair was exactly where it should be: not in its place.  "It really is perfect."