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barbicide…

When I was a girl my favorite part about going to the salon were the glass jars that sat on each station. In each jar sat a hospital grade disinfectant called Barbicide, I realize there can’t be very many romantic or creative things one can think about a sanitizing agent but bare with me. I loved these jars filled with combs and barbicide because they would glow a beautiful jewel-like blue and I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by them. I imagined the blue to be like that of far away oceans I had one day hoped to see and I imagined hair dressers all over the world using their different techniques, chatting with customers of all shapes and sizes, creating endless possibilities with blowdryers and curling irons, all different, all unique but all with a jar of Barbicide on their stations to house their combs at night while they returned to home to rest from a long day’s work.

 

My first hair dresser was a man named George. I know very little of him except that he was married and had a son. His shop is long gone and even in this computer age I wouldn’t have any information that would allow me to track him down on Facebook or any other social media site. Sometimes I find myself driving past where his shop used to be and I can’t help but keep an eye out for him or look to see if he has returned the shop its rightful place. I remember walking into his small but bright shop and being greeted by all the smells of the shampoos, hairsprays and perm solutions. I remember pouring over hair magazines, look books and color swatches. I remember his salon giving me a feeling of endless possibilities and a sense that the tension of whatever was bothering me could be washed away with a simple shampoo. When I was in his chair the world felt a little smaller and laughter seemed to come a bit easier.

 

I remember thinking that George must be some kind of god because there was nothing he couldn’t do. When I brought in pictures of Jennifer Lopez he made me look like her, even though there is not one ounce of this European heinz 57 that could pass for Puerto Rican. When I wanted I wanted short hair he cut my hair in such a way that it flattered my round, awkward teenage face. When I broke up with my first boyfriend he gave me the perfect break up hair and I woke up the next morning a new woman with no regrets. He did all this with the kindest of smiles and a calm that could put you at ease on your most stressful day.

 

I suppose that he was the first (although I did not know it at the time) to inspire me to walk down the path that I am on and I am grateful. There have been others on this path, but we shall save their stories for a future date and time. The next time you go to your hairdresser take a look at their station, as cluttered as it may be and notice it, tucked away behind hairsprays and straightening creams, sits their jar of Barbicide. Full of combs that have heard so many stories, some good, some heart breaking all sitting in an ocean of possibilities. Remark on the shade of its blue, the depth of its color and wonder at how it could have lead this little red head sitting on a booster seat, underneath a giant cutting cape, listening to the tales of a man named George, to dream and how maybe it could inspire you too.

Krya

what’s next awards

 

I decided to enter the What’s Next Awards competition by Sebastian. This is my look, modelled by none other than my beautiful friend, Krya. To vote for me, so I can win this competition, just follow the steps below.

1. Go to the Sebastian Professional FACEBOOK page.

2. Just above the timeline you will see “The What’s Next Awards” in a little square, click on it.

3. Click on View Entries.

4. Under the Professional category you can search for my name and vote for my photo.

I know this is a lot of steps, but you wouldn’t be able to find it if I didn’t send you there!

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hello!

hair spray |ˈhɛr spreɪ|(also hairspray |ˈhe(ə)rˌsprā|)

noun

a solution sprayed onto a person’s hair to keep it in place.

 

holy water |ˈhoʊli ˈwɔdər|

noun

water blessed by a priest and used in religious ceremonies.

 

I love hairspray. It is the finishing touch to my morning routine. The last thing I put on before I whip out of the house. Most saturdays in the salon the air is think of it. A cumulonimbus, if you will, that hangs just above the confessions of nervousness set forth by recent graduates on their way to ceremonies and the cries of joy and disbelief of brides to be and close friends who can’t believe that such a special day has arrived.  I often find myself wondering, between sectioning curls and placing bobby pins, just how many brain cells I have lost to hairspray that day and if I will ever see them regenerated.

Despite my Anglican upbringing and the faith I profess my experience with holy water is limited. I babysat for a family who kept a large jar of it on their kitchen counter and during my initial consultation with the children’s mother, she made sure to point it out and invited me to use it, should the need arise. When I lived in Montreal one of my favourite things to do was to visit old Churches. Montreal has many beautiful, old and wonderful Churches within its city’s walls and in many of these majestic Churches you will find pilgrims of old using it before prayers and to bless their loved ones. To me this practice is lovely. A beautiful act of faith and blessing as you hope to be a light to those around you as you journey forth on the road of life.

I come from a line of well educated people, laywers, nurses, doctors and soon-to-be engineers flood my genealogy and I wonder if I have done them justice. Three years ago I gave up a 5(plus) year search of the perfect university major and took a year long course in hairdressing. I found my true passion and life has taken shape ever since. I never really knew how to do anything with my hair before I went to hair school and whenever I did I always felt like a four year old wearing her mother’s makeup to the Church picnic, out of place and the wrong fit. It was a year of not only practical learning, forming pin curls and wrapping perms, but also a year of learning about to communicate and how to be honest not just with the women around me but with myself and how I saw who I was becoming and who I could be.

I hope that I am doing those in my genealogy justice, I feel that I am. I am living a life that I love, full of good hair, hard work, family and faith. I can’t ask for anything more than that. I am living my dreams and passions and am hoping that all of you will come along for the ride. Live a life full of hairspray and holywater, a life of inspiration, beauty, faith and endurance.

Life won’t always be easy, there will be days that confuse you and turn you upside down. When that happens all you need a little bit of hairspray and holywater. Hairspray to help you look your best to stare down life’s dragons and Holy water, to remind you to be a light to those around you and to live the legacy of pilgrims gone before you, the legacy of understanding and hope.

So there you have it hairspray and holywater, the two things that can cure any trial, problem or tribulation.