My Hairdresser is a Good Person

(DE) When I returned to my hometown, my apartment, my neighbourhood, and my regular stores after a several-year absence, almost everything was still the same as before, despite the pandemic we had endured. Only my hairdresser had retired.

I don't know if this is a problem for men, but for women, especially at my age, it definitely is.

Going to the hairdresser is a matter of trust.

You anticipate it because it removes the upsetting sight in the mirror.

You look forward to stepping back out onto the street an hour or two later, revitalised and looking your best, with renewed self-confidence.

You look forward to someone believing that, despite wrinkles, drooping eyelids, and a double chin, there is still something that can be done.

But the idea of feeling horribly disfigured because the cut is unsuccessful and the hair colour doesn't match your complexion fills you with dread. You never forget an experience like that. That's why every woman feels happy when she finds a hairdresser who knows how to make her feel good. If you lose your hairdresser for any reason, you are faced with the seemingly impossible question: Which hairdressing salon can I trust?

I set out on a search and looked through many shop windows into various salons. I noticed that nowadays there are more young men than older women sitting in hairdressing chairs. Most hair salons are more elegant than cosy. The stylish hairdressers seem to have learned during their training that a rather snooty look is more in keeping with professional ethics than a smile on their faces.

Sometimes I didn't dare enter the shop because I was afraid that these hairdressers wouldn't know what to do with my head and would simply give me an appointment with a deep sigh.

But one day, I was drawn to a salon that didn't shine with elegance but with vibrancy. The store sign also mentioned relaxation, so I went in.

Behind the small counter stood a young dark-haired man who, when he looked up, had a radiant smile in his eyes. Completely taken aback, I explained that I urgently needed a hairdresser and pointed to my hair, hoping for understanding. There was no sign of alarm on the young man's face. Unperturbed, he leaned over his appointment book and suggested a suitable appointment for me. As I left, he accompanied me to the door and said goodbye with a cheerful “I look forward to seeing you!”

Had I really just experienced that? What was wrong with this young man? Had he missed all the training courses where young hairdressers are taught to behave condescendingly, implying superiority?

When I arrived for my appointment at the hairdresser's, I felt very unsettled. What was the catch?

To cut a long story short: there wasn't one.

A salon where you feel at home

This young man gave my hair a natural colour and a suitable cut, and he was very friendly to everyone who entered the salon.

An elderly lady simply wanted her hair blow-dried because he was better at it than anyone else. Young men had these modern haircuts, which always remind me of the 1940s. They chatted with their trusted hairdresser as if he were an old friend. He seemed to understand his customers' circumstances well, yet he didn't ask any intrusive questions. I never heard him engage in small talk or spout platitudes. He preferred to remain silent and focus on his work.

Once, when I made a snide remark about a comment on the radio, which was playing constantly, he asked me quite sincerely what I meant by it. He stopped his work, listened carefully to my explanation, nodded, and that was the end of it.

Once, everyone in the saloon was discussing strange phone calls, which often turned out to be linked to criminal activities. My hairdresser listened and finally shared his own story.

One afternoon, a strange phone call came into the shop. A woman's voice said, ‘Oh please, could you read something to me so I can fall asleep?’ We all laughed and thought it was a joke. ‘What did you do?’ I asked. ‘Well,’ he said very seriously, "I didn't have any customers at the time, so I read articles from the magazines lying around here. In between, I kept asking if the caller was still listening. But at some point, all I could hear was the lady breathing. So I quietly hung up."

My hairdresser is simply a good person!

I was speechless. Most people, myself included, would have hung up angrily or suspected some malicious intent. Not my hairdresser. He was able to fulfil this unusual but very human request, and so he simply did it.

That was when I first realised that my hairdresser must not only be a good hairdresser but also a good person.

On another occasion, my impression was reinforced.

It was a freezing Saturday afternoon in spring, and it had rained all day. My hairdresser was pressed for time because there had been an emergency in his family, and he needed to get home as quickly as possible.

While he was still busy blow-drying my hair, a man about 50 hurried in. He held an umbrella and was dressed only in a T-shirt and trousers, both soaking wet. As he tried to tell his story—that a friend had refused to give him a lift in his car—a puddle spread around him.

My hairdresser stood sadly in front of the soaked man and asked him what he could do, how he could help. But the man rushed out of the shop again and disappeared.

Stunned, my hairdresser returned to the salon chair where I was sitting and stared ahead. ‘What could I have done? He didn't tell me what he needed! I didn't understand him and now he's gone!’ He felt bad because he was helpless in this situation and didn't know how he could have reacted better.

The only thing that didn't occur to him was to get upset that the man had come into the shop and disturbed him. Nor did he justify himself by citing his own emergency and time pressure as an excuse for not having done anything specific. He just kept insisting that he would have done everything if the man had only told him how he could help.

I observed the situation and can only say that to this day, I don't know what could have been done for the man who appeared and vanished in a flash.

But that's how he is, my hairdresser! A philanthropist! A good person!

A painful experience and a new beginning!

I was very curious to discover what kind of life story lay behind such a character, so I began asking him questions cautiously. And so, gradually, I learned about his life story.

My hairdresser was originally an exceptionally talented footballer. Football had been his great passion since childhood. He trained hard in the youth team of a well-known football club and, because he was also very talented, he was highly promoted by the club. Before he was 20, he was playing for the amateurs, and no one doubted that he was a gifted professional footballer in the making. Several hours of training every day alongside his apprenticeship filled his days quite nicely. And on the weekends, he headed to the matches. His talent was outstanding, and he enjoyed the sense of recognition and admiration he received. Just a bit longer, and he could make the leap to professional football!

But he still wanted to complete his apprenticeship. Despite his promising future as a professional footballer, he believed it was sensible to acquire a vocational qualification. His trainer and employer supported their apprentice, who aimed to stay grounded while pursuing his big dream.

And then, fate started to place obstacles in his path.

He got a new boss. This boss was no longer as willing to support the third-year apprentice in his football career. The chemistry between them was not right. There was a falling out, and a typical reaction from a young man in his twenties who had not yet learnt to cling to desperate hope, but who, spoiled by fate and blessed with talent and attention, believed in himself and his luck. The apprentice quit in the middle of his final year and put all his eggs in one basket, namely football.

This was not unrealistic, because not only he, but the whole club and its fans believed in the gifted centre-forward.

A few weeks after quitting his apprenticeship, it happened. There was a football match in the hall! He twisted his left foot—broken ankle!

The club's great hope was now in the hospital.

Of course, the doctors managed to fix the fracture. After the healing process, rehabilitation followed, accompanied by the patient's restlessness, as he worked obsessively towards his full recovery.

To build his muscles and endurance, he took a job as a postman as soon as he was physically able, delivering mail by bicycle without the aid of an electric motor.

Not only did the young man hope for a full recovery, but the football club did as well. They offered him their full support. For over a year, the door to the amateur team and therefore to a professional career remained open. This was thanks to the conviction of both the club's management and the players. Their captain should return, had to return! Such talent couldn't just vanish!

But what no one wanted to believe happened. He never regained the form he once had. Eventually, not only he himself but also the club had to accept this reality, and the door to a professional career closed once and for all.

How does a young man in his mid-20s, who has dedicated his entire life to this dream and was so close to achieving it, cope with this stroke of fate?

When I asked him this question, a wistful expression appeared on his face. Even many years later, he still could not find the right words to describe how he felt at that moment.

‘I couldn't go to any football pitch. I couldn't even watch a game on TV, not even with my family,’ he tried to explain his state of mind to me. ‘Even today, sadness mingles with my enthusiasm for football when I see the players on the pitch. That could have been me. The thought is impossible to suppress."

You can tell that this wound remains far from healed, even after all these years.

Therefore, I didn't ask how he experienced or, rather, survived the disorientation after his final exit from football. But one thing is certain. Neither he nor his family had an easy time during this period.

And this is where the father, who runs a hairdressing salon supported by his wife, comes in. These parents do not appear to have pressured their traumatised, sad, and clearly angry son to start doing something meaningful with his life or to stop dwelling on this dream. They probably allowed him time to grieve, which is difficult for parents and therefore a significant achievement.

But one day, he surprised them and himself with a decision.

The young man, who used to come and go as he pleased in his father's salon, suddenly developed an unexpected wish to be trained by a hairdresser working there.

When he got up that day, he didn't even realise it himself. It was only when he heard himself say to his father's employee in the shop, ‘Would you take me on as an apprentice?’, that he understood he had made a decision about his future.

Today, he enjoys being a hairdresser and succeeds in making his customers feel as if the artist in him is eager for the task.

There is also a positive atmosphere during each visit to the hairdresser. He never looks at his customers' heads with indifference, but with that very special creative gaze that asks: What shall we do today?

And then you can see the joy on his face when his work is finished. Always something different, never the same!

And every now and then, he even says to me, an old lady, as I leave: ‘You look good.’

Since I have a mirror or two at home and occasionally look at myself in them, I can only say again: my hairdresser is a good person! (TA)