LA is perhaps only second to New York in number and quality of hair salons. As someone with unruly, frizzy curls, I am constantly on the search for someone who can trim my freakish hair into a masterpiece.
The first salon I visited in LA was the ultra-indie Sit Still in Venice. My friend had made the appointment for the two of us, and that was the beginning of the end. The receptionist had misunderstood her, and thought my 22 year old buddy was bringing her son instead of her companion. The stylist was expecting to cut the hair of a stylish 4 year old, and instead got me. Whoops.
Once the mix-up was laughed over, she brought me to a chair and immediately, without consulting me, began slapping on hair dye. At first, I was about to freak, but since she was lightening my hair, I realized the damage was done and sat patiently through the experience. She didn’t time her appointment properly and had me move from my chair to a bench in the middle of the salon while she took another client (whom, I presume, was a better tipper.) She neglected layering the curls, so my hair dried into a pyramid shape. My hair was lightened with unmaintainable highlights. I was miserable. And my meter ran out in the middle of the appointment. I had to run out in a cape with quarters.
My friend still goes back and sees her same stylist. She has been nothing but thrilled with her service, but I absolutely refuse to go back. My next stop a few months later was Awilda salon on Robertson. Never crowded and incredibly serene, the entire salon is decorated in muted earth tones. There is parking in back and free street parking less than a block away. The first person to style my hair was the owner herself. She delighted over the fact that we have very similar hair textures, and gave me dozens of tips on how to deal with it. She suggested taking Biotin supplements to get the wispy pieces by my face to grow out (they worked). She disapprovingly muttered over my lightened color, and suggested I let it grow out to my natural shade. She chopped off a few inches and gave me a sophisticated bob.
Six months after that grew in, I went and saw Heather at the same salon. I had grown weary of having long hair and decided to chop it all off. She sat with me patiently, for over an hour and a half, and gave me an absolutely amazing ‘do. Awilda stopped by Heather’s station, asked me how I was, and offered me fresh strawberries. So, I don’t mean to sound like a hoity-toity snob, but my experience in Beverly Hills truly was above my experience in Venice. Although my allegiances may be firmly stuck at Awilda, I would love more tips of places in LA to look out for.
Photo courtesy maebmij on flickr.
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