Nolan Dalla Rant: Ten Commandments for Hair Stylists

Why must I hear every detail of the hair stylist’s life story when I sit down in a barber’s chair?  I mean — I’ve known you for what, maybe ten minutes?

Here are my “Ten Commandments for Hair Stylists.”

What’s up with hairstylists?

Why in the hell do I have to hear every detail of their life story when I sit down in a barber’s chair?  I mean, what — I’ve known you for maybe all of fifteen minutes?  And I already know more about you than members of my own family.

Please do me a favor.  Just shut up and cut my hair!

Seriously.  Is that too much to ask?

You’re looking at a photo I snapped yesterday of me and “Maria.”  She’s a stylist at the hotel where I’m staying.  During my 35-minute ordeal with Maria, she never stopped yapping.  Not once.  Worse, she asked me several questions about myself and when I wasn’t forthcoming with much conversation, she decided to tell me her own life story.  She’s 53, was born in Cuba, is divorced, has three kids, and went through menopause 14 months ago.  I can recite all their Social Security numbers and birthdays, and tell you what each of them had for dinner last Tuesday night, too — if anyone’s interested.

I realize that walking in and winging it with any new barber pretty much amounts to taking the plunge of a blind date.  That said, my work schedule sometimes requires that I gamble with my personal grooming.  Or, skip haircuts altogether.

It’s time for those of us forced to sit in barber’s chairs and endure this abuse to reclaim our rights.  What follows is a code of conduct for people who cut hair for a living.  A drum roll, please.

Here are my “Ten Commandments for Hair Stylists:”

1.  Shut up.

That’s right.  Keep your mouth shut and concentrate on your task.  After you ask me how much hair to take off, keep quiet.  Zip it.  While you have a sharp blade an inch from my jugular vein, I’d appreciate you focusing on my scalp — not worrying about what I do for a living.  While you’re cutting, I’m busy thinking about my own issues.  I sure as shit don’t want to hear about yours.

2.  Play the music I want to hear (Or better yet, shut it off)

Most hair salons have music playing in the background.  Unfortunately, since most hairstylists are younger, foreign-born women, they listen to the shittiest music on the planet.  Songs with voice synthesizers and lyrics I can’t possibly understand.  Shut that garbage off!  I’m a guest in your place of business.  You are my servant for the next half hour.  You ask me what I want to listen to.  I shouldn’t be subjected to your appalling lack of musical taste.

3.  Don’t ask me any personal questions

If I want you to know something about me, I will volunteer that information.  You are my barber, not my psychiatrist.  No, we aren’t friends.  You are not entitled to ask me what I do for a living, where I live, or anything about my family.  Question:  How would you react if a waiter came up to your table and asked, “So, what do you do for a living and how are things going in your marriage?”  That’s pretty much what you are doing, except in this case I have to just sit there and listen while buckled into your barber’s hair.

4.  Don’t keep me waiting (the ten-minute rule)

When I show up on time, I don’t want to see someone else sitting in my chair.  When we agree on a “1 pm” appointment time, I expect you to be standing there with an apron ready to place me comfortably in the barber’s chair.  Never force me to wait outside while you and your unreliable client squawk away while her color treatment is finishing.  Here’s the rule:  You’ve got ten minutes.  You make me wait more than ten minutes, and I’m storming out the door.  But I also get the same consideration if I’m late.  You must give me ten minutes — not one second less or more.  Anyone sitting in my chair after the ten-minute window has expired gets fish-hooked out of the seat.  If your color isn’t done yet, too fucking bad.  Go out and wait in the parking lot.  I’m next.

5.  Listen and then follow my instructions

When I tell you how I want my hair done, follow my fucking instructions.  If I’m not clear, then ask for clarification.  Yesterday, Maria didn’t fucking listen the first time, so she had to waste an extra ten minutes of my day by correcting her mistake.  Try saying this:  “Hello, Mr. Dalla.  How would you like your hair done today?”  Then shut up and listen to my instructions.  Once you feel up to the task, start cutting and keep quiet.

6.  Don’t use hair gels or perfumes without my explicit permission

Many hairstylists have developed an annoying habit of just assuming you want chemicals slathered all over your scalp after the haircut is finished.  What’s up with that?  If you’ve done your job properly, we shouldn’t need “gel” to make it look right.  I want to feel fresh and clean when I leave the salon, not look like some extra in a Martin Scorsese movie ready to do a hit on someone.

7.  I don’t care for your opinion

After the haircut, the most common line I hear is — always from female stylists — “now your hair looks terrific.”  Well of course it’s going to look “terrific” to the biased individual who’s been snipping away for half an hour.  I’m sure the guy working at Subway thinks his sandwiches look like masterpieces, too.  But once I exit the building, you’re probably not ever going to see me again.  So, why do I give a rat’s ass what you think about my hair?  Besides — if you’re listing to mind-warping R&B music, how reliable can your opinion be about anything?  The only opinion that matters when it comes to my hair is (1) mine, or (2) my wife’s.  She’s the one who has to look at me for the next six weeks, not you.  So, unless you’re planning to follow me around for the next month and a half, I’m not really interested in your perspective of my hair.  Besides, your own hair looks pretty much like shit.

8.  The haircut is finished when I say it’s “done”

The haircut is finished when I make a pronouncement that I’m satisfied with your work.  Not one second beforehand.  You don’t tell me that you’re finished.  You’re finished when I walk out the door and am starting the engine of my car.

9.  Don’t try and up-sell me

I know you hustle your clients out of a huge commission on those overpriced hair products on your shelf that has been sitting there for four years.  It’s usually the exact same shampoo or conditioner you can find at a Dollar Store that you’re hijacking your clients for $27 a bottle.  I’m not a fucking idiot.  I realize my follicles can use some help and it would be nice to get more sheen from my wave.  But I’ll stick with my “Mane and Tail,” thank you very much.  If the giant bottle of “Mane and Tail” is good enough for horses, it’s good enough for me.

10.  Give me your business card, but don’t expect me to call

When we’re done, offer your business card.  If I like the work you’ve done and you’re lucky, you’ll be granted the opportunity to cut my hair again.

One final word:  If you’ve done a good job, you will likely be tipped 50 percent of the bill.  Since I never patronize the break-in razor farms that advertize $8 haircuts, that means I’m usually spending $20 for the basic haircut, plus a $10 tip — or $30 in all.

Which brings up one last outrage.  Why does it cost $30 for me to get a haircut, but then it costs twice as much to get my cat’s hair done?  How does PetSmart get away with charging $55 for a haircut (plus the tip) for a cat?

Then again, maybe paying double the price is worth every penny.  At least my Maine Coon “Alex” doesn’t have to listen to all the annoying chatter.