Hair

This morning, I got a cheap haircut. Since moving to Montreal 3 and a half years ago, I've tried a few different Aveda salons, but none of my experiences came close to rivalling that stemming from the relationship I'd had with my hairdresser in Ottawa.

I've never been overly concerned with my hair: I run a brush through it in morning, most days; I don't own a blow-dryer. If it takes more than 2 minutes to make it look acceptable, it's not my fault or the lack of product — it's the haircut.

Bill knew my hair. We treated it well and shared a philosophy — you must be true to the hair, embrace what it wants to be. (And he knew me too: perhaps most precious of all to me in a hair salon, we were comfortable in each other's alternating silliness and silences.)

Within 3 blocks of home are 3 haircutting establishments: one very prestigious; another brand new and boasting a hip, urban feel (but it turns out just barely beyond the price limit I'd established for myself, which I thought about fudging, but rules are rules...); and one that has a local feel and looks more like a barbershop. It's probably been there for 70 years, as has most of its clientele.

(Within 5 blocks are at least another 4. I'm getting the feeling we moved into the hair district of this town.)

I opted for the "barbershop." Half the price of the joint across the street, and half the time I'm used to spending, too. And it looks okay! And the clincher, I feel great! To the benefit of myself, my hair, and local small business, I may do this more often.