The sun was pleasantly balmy for an October morning, a crystal blue sky dancing with non-existent clouds. A girl in red and a lady in yellow skipped over to Blade Soho, with bags and suitcases in tow, photoshoots all morning, and now it was time to play. Hair tied up in a nonchalant plait, flower crown rested atop her frizzy mane, red tassel earrings dancing jauntily in the mild breeze. Frida Khalo come to life once more, or so people said, red floral maxi dress cascading in a circle around the gathering wind. Welcomed into the small intimate fold of Blade Soho, heels clacking on the floor with gusto, traipsing through the stairs and into the basement, where our tour began, cocktails ready to be made at the bar. Would it be a Cherry Kiss or an Old Fashioned, it was time to try something new, moschino cherries laced in deliciousness rolling off the tip of my tongue in ecstasy. The liquid was smooth and velvety, a devilish concoction that slipped down my throat with the ease of a cat who had got the cream, while Marie had prosecco and gin, a fragrant bubble of liquid that melted her insides into liquid gold. Boomarangs of expert hands with cocktail shakers, the music drifting around the room in a delightful cloud of 90’s and noughties nostalgia, Beyonce crooning soulfully, as we toasted our drinks.
We were led to our chairs by our hairdressers for the afternoon, friendly faces with a jovial nature, smiles lighting up their kind expressions. Sinking gratefully into our seats, our hair was cleansed and washed, like one might feel under a tropical shower… invigorating, fresh, pure, a head massage easing the tension out of restless minds. Slowly we relaxed and our limbs unfurled like cats, cocktails gulped in a heady gauze of delicious debauchery and mischief, a welcome respite from reality. Time came to a still as we got lost in the moment, bantering and joking among ourselves, laughing like children once more, we forgot adult responsibility. A Cosmopolitan was waiting for us upstairs, a delicious pink liquid that felt right at home in our mouths, as the music continued and the drinks helped us relax, as the afternoon drew into evening. Loose curls taming frizzy hair, a wild lion’s mane reclaimed and re-envisioned as a sleek raven, the Queen of the birds come out of hiding.We clasped the I-Pads that lay before us with wonderment in our eyes, as we watched Netflix series, while our hair was being preened and styled. It was Bojack Horseman and Riverdale for Marie, lost in our respective world, as we chatted to the hairdressers that were faithfully attending to our tresses.
But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next, a fluffy white cloud of adorable yappiness who ran around the room in endless delight, a Yorkshire Terrier whose tail was wagging, as it weaved in and out of our feet. Downstairs we had caught a glimpse of ‘doggy beer’ at the bar, a drink that even humankind’s best friend could enjoy, while its owner feasted on cocktails, a ‘pet friendly’ hair salon that welcomed those with furry paws just as much as it relished its human customers. It was a salon that would change perceptions of what it meant to get a hair cut, a salon where you could go ‘hairclubbing’, dancing to the eclectic range of music that would drift delightfully through the air. There would be cocktails too, a glass of wine for some, a cherry kiss for another. They would be gone in a matter of minutes, gulped thirstily with gusto and aplomb, although we craved something foodie to line our stomachs with love.
Our hair was cradled with finesse, expert hands taming frizzy tresses, a natural blow dry that was not caked with ‘hairspray’ but glossed over with sheen, I could see the grey hairs dancing among amber and chestnut low lights in dark brown hair. The time had come to let down my hair; it framed my oval face in loose cascading waves, it felt smooth to the touch. I ran my fingers through it absentmindedly, it felt different to have my hair down, I was so used to hiding it away under flower crowns and hats. I saw past the silver that were intermixed with black, and to the glorious radiance of the transformed curls, as we sat outside and took photos, bathed in a golden luminous light. The sun was high in the sky, and the air ripe with promise; I phone at the ready snapping away, while I plumped for the camera, relishing the feel of the curls between my fingers. I wound one of the ringlets round my thumb, wishing that my hair could stay like this forever, a raven’s head of hair among Lion manes.
Instagram stories were posted and the compliments kept flowing, readers and followers telling me ‘How I should wear my hair down more often’, and how beautiful the blowdry looked, my self confidence was boosted. I decided that it was time to make a change, I would start to make a conscious effort to wear my hair down more often and to embrace my natural hair. I would let down my hair like Rapunzel, chestnut brown and inky black curly waves cascading down my back like a waterfall, and it would feel glorious, freeing even. But for now my hair is back in a twisted plait, the memory of a mermaid queen and her blowdry in a treasure box of dreams, where the Mermaid and the autumn queen bop their heads to 90’s tunes once more, and their hair is transformed into a cloud of beauty, a woman’s crowning glory.
Would I do it again? Absolutely.
Have You Ever Been ‘Hairclubbing Before’?
Please note we were given complimentary cocktails and blowdries in exchange for this post but all thoughts are my own and are not affected by complimentary services.