Five years ago, I found a copy of Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential in a local charity shop. I had no idea who he was, but the back cover hooked me instantly. I devoured the book, taken in by his honesty, his humour, and his unapologetic opinions. But what truly resonated with me was his story. In many ways, it was just like mine.

As I absorbed his commentary on the restaurant world, a thought kept nagging at me: why had no one written a book like this about hairdressing? We all use this industry, yet we have no real understanding of what it entails. There are no books that get to the heart of what it's like to be a salon hairdresser. Who are the people cutting our hair? What is this job really about? No one has ever accurately described the dexterity, the creativity, and the sheer physicality involved, let alone the ins and outs of the industry itself.

Bourdain lifted the lid on the opaque world of kitchens two decades ago, and now everyone is obsessed with chefs and restaurants. Yet hairdressing remains surprisingly obscured from view. Hairdressers, however, have stories to tell. Their world is populated by them. They have access to every industry imaginable, with the experiences of thousands walking through their doors. They engage in conversations on subjects they'd never considered, all while working with the focus and precision of a maestro. Imagine the stories a hairdresser could tell you.

For twenty years, I’ve been a hairdresser. I’ve worked in luxury five-star salons and small, back-street independents. I’ve trained at the highest level and worked with global icons. I’ve been an assistant, a boss, and now I run my own salon. My writing comes from this experience and from the heart. My pieces are about the job—the good, the bad, and the downright shameful. They are also, of course, about my clients. Not their private lives—I would never betray that sacred trust—but about managing those complex relationships. My word is my bond, and the confidentiality I have with them is paramount, but there is enormous fodder for scrutiny, insight, and humour.

I use my experiences with some of my more challenging clients to explore how people view themselves and the world. It’s always a humbling experience. I try to voice my opinion without pushing my views on my clients, which is a fine balance. If I were to assess my clients based on their politics and beliefs, I’d probably be left with a skeletal client base. It takes an enormous amount of patience and skill to manage your own political boundaries alongside those of your clients.

But for every challenging client, there is an equal number that I adore—the ones who make it all worthwhile. They have made my job an essential part of who I am. Many have been with me for my entire career, loyally following me from salon to salon. Their support, trust, and friendship have humbled me in ways I can't explain. Without them, I never would have been able to start my own business. To them, our relationship has gone beyond friendship; it feels like I have an extended family. To those who know who they are, I am eternally grateful for their love and support.

Yet, even these relationships have a strange dynamic. As close as we become, we are only close in the salon. After the appointment, nothing is invested, and nothing is expected. Intense when we're together, and no contact when we’re not. I don’t know of any other relationship that works this way, but it doesn’t inhibit our ability to open up. If anything, it gives us more impetus to share in the time we have. There’s a genuine emotional connection under a time constraint. The exchange between clients and hairdressers is the very fabric of good mental health, and yet we are often oblivious to the ritual we're participating in. Everyone, good or bad, has a story about their hairdresser.

If you’re a hairdresser reading this, working in a salon, your true dedication to your art may never be fully realised. Perhaps you’ll step out for a quick cigarette between clients and see the latest ad campaign for Chanel splashed on the side of a bus. An emaciated model stares back at you, her hair looking like it was styled by a blind person. "I could do that," you'll think, and the truth is, you could—ten times over. The stylist who did that model’s hair was paid ten times more than you are, more than you’ll ever know. But know this: they could never run a column like yours. Never.

My 9:30 client is late, and even though it's only 15 minutes, it feels like a monumental setback. I know I’ll spend the rest of the day scrambling to make up the time. I can't get mad, though. He's a new dad, probably running on no sleep. I'll just smile, pretend it's no big deal, and get on with it. After all, my time is his time, right?

But his tardiness has a ripple effect. Now I'm late for my next client, a woman in her late fifties. Our monthly appointments are one of her few social outlets. Her life is a little grey, and she comes to me for a bit of sunshine. She talks endlessly about her job, her difficult family, and her unresolved past. I listen, nod, and occasionally ask a question, all while trying not to lose my mind. Our conversations feel like a one-way street; she unloads her burdens, and I soak it all in. I've learned that a lot of my job isn’t just about styling hair—it's about being an emotional punching bag. And I'm getting paid for it, so I guess that's the trade-off.

I became a hairdresser by chance, and it's been a wild ride. I've worked in everything from high-end luxury salons to small backstreet shops. I've met wonderful people and, frankly, some of the most difficult. We stylists are expected to perform miracles in a limited amount of time, not only creatively but emotionally. We're a sounding board for our clients' views and frustrations, even if we don't agree.

Running my own business has changed the dynamic. I have to care about my clients because my livelihood depends on them. But it's hard when I can't relate to them. My salon is in an affluent part of London, and I often feel disconnected from the people I serve. They complain about prices, as if my skill and time are worth nothing. I’ve had to bite my tongue to keep from yelling, “Go somewhere else if you want cheap!” I've listened to them talk about six-thousand-pound fridges and private jet trips, all while they lecture me about social issues. It's a world away from my own, and it can feel like I'm propping up their self-centred reality for a pay check.

I often feel dirty and used, taking money from the very people I resent. I want to tell them what I really think, but I know they wouldn't care. They’d just find a new salon. So I'm trapped in this world of my own making.

I hope that my voice speaks for the hard-working stylists out there. I hope in some way all my bitterness about the injustice of this industry, helps some of you. I hope that you can find something in this book that speaks to you, makes you feel like there is someone else out there who’s made all the mistakes, who’s been a failure and yet in the end it can somehow come good.

This book is a gentle nod of respect to the thousands of stylists out here in every corner of the country working like dogs performing miracle after miracle on every waiting client that comes into see them, one after the other, day after day, week after week, month after month. These are the best hairdressers, and I salute you, your dedication to your art will never be truly realised.

As an experienced hairdresser with many years in the industry, l've encountered a recurring challenge: clients often have unrealistic expectations when it comes to the value of our services. This issue is not just about the final look they desire but also about the price they expect to pay for it.

Many clients seem to believe that cutting hair is a simple task that requires minimal skill. This misconception couldn't be further from the truth. Hairdressing is an art form that demands a high level of expertise, precision, and creativity. Each client has unique hair types, textures, and preferences, which means that a one-size-fits-all approach simply doesn't work.It takes years of training and experience to master the techniques needed to deliver a personalised and flawless haircut.

Despite this, there is a palpable expectation for hairdressers to reduce their prices. Clients often compare our services to cheaper alternatives, not realising the significant difference in quality and skill. A professional haircut is not just about trimming the ends; it's about understanding the client's vision, assessing their hair's condition, and executing a style that enhances their overall appearance. This level of service requires time, effort, and a deep understanding of hair dynamics. Moreover, the tools and products we use are of professional grade, ensuring the best results for our clients. these come at a cost, which is factored into our pricing. When clients expect lower prices, they inadvertently devalue the expertise and resources that go into providing top-notch hairdressing services.

It's essential for clients to recognise that a professional haircut is an investment in their appearance and confidence. By choosing an experienced hairdresser, they are not just paying for a haircut; they are paying for the years of training, the quality of service, and the assurance of a style that suits them perfectly.

In conclusion, the value of hairdressing services should be appreciated for the skill, dedication, and artistry involved. As hairdressers, we strive to meet our clients' expectations, but it's equally important for clients to understand and respect the value of our work.

The air in the salon is thick with the sweet, chemical scent of fresh colour and the sharp tang of hairspray. The rhythmic snip-snip of scissors is a steady metronome in the background, a sound that, to a master, is as deliberate and meaningful as a sculptor's chisel against marble. A true artist in this space understands the quiet language of a client's hair the subtle differences in texture, the unique way it falls, the potential hidden within its fibers. They invest not just in a chair and a pair of shears, but in years of education, in advanced courses, in the relentless pursuit of perfection.

And yet, this mastery is a gilded cage. The industry, as a whole, is drowning in a sea of mediocrity. A quick, weekend course, a social media post, and a discount can now pass for expertise. The barrier to entry has crumbled, replaced by a low-cost, high-volume model that churns out passable haircuts and unremarkable colour jobs. This over-saturation of the average has poisoned the well. Clients, conditioned by the ubiquity of "good enough" and cheap deals, have lost their ability to distinguish true artistry from a basic service. The collective perception of the hair stylist has been reduced from a skilled artisan to a glorified cutter, and the value of their time, their experience, and their art has plummeted.

The most talented professionals are caught in a painful paradox. They are told they can't charge for what they are truly worth because clients won't pay. But it is not the client's fault. How can a patron be expected to understand the difference between a meticulously crafted balayage that wit grow out seamlessly and a rushed, foil-heavy dye job that will leave them with stripes a month later? The industry has failed to educate its own. It has not established clear standards, celebrated its masters, or created a pathway to excellence that is both visible and valuable to the public. It has instead prioritized speed and volume, leaving a trail of indistinguishable, lacklustre work in its wake.

The most damning truth is the absence of a unified, regulatory board. There is no central body to demand a minimum standard of expertise or to prevent the industry from becoming a free-for-all. This lack of oversight has turned the hairdressing world into a sort of Wild West, where anyone with a pair of scissors and a business license can open a salon, regardless of their skill or experience.

The market is flooded with practitioners who compete solely on price, further eroding the value of the true craft. This is not the fault of the public, but the failing of an industry that has no mechanism to protect its standards, and therefore no defence against those who are content with doing the bare minimum.

This is a crisis of value, not a failure of the market. The problem is not that society refuses to pay for skill; it is that the hair industry has made skill invisible. It has failed to create a system that elevates and protects its best and brightest, and in doing so, it has allowed the art of hair to be devalued by the very people who practice it. The true artist, with their hands, their heart, and their expertise, is left to fight a lonely battle against a tide of mediocrity that their own profession has enabled.

The UK government's Tackling Loneliness Network was formed in response to the growing issue of loneliness, which was exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic. The network, which includes over 70 organizations from various sectors, operates on the principle that a collaborative, whole-society approach is essential to addressing loneliness. Its vision is to be a "partnership of equals," with each member contributing their unique expertise, knowledge, and community connections to a shared goal.

The network focuses on four key areas:

1. Tackling loneliness in young people: This acknowledges that loneliness is not exclusive to the elderly.

2. Tackling loneliness in older people: A traditional focus of loneliness initiatives.

3. Local and place-based approaches: Recognizing that solutions must be tailored to specific communities.

4. Digital inclusion: Addressing the role of technology in both causing and alleviating loneliness.

Loneliness is a deeply personal and pervasive issue, and its impact on mental and physical well-being has been formally recognized by governments, including the UK, which appointed a Minister for Loneliness in 2018. This was a response not only to the COVID-19 pandemic but also to the broader understanding that a significant portion of the population felt lonely and isolated long before lockdowns began. The government's strategy involves working with a diverse network of organizations to reduce the stigma associated with loneliness and to help people reconnect.

A key part of this strategy is signposting, where individuals are directed to resources and support. A total of £34 million was allocated to projects aimed at tackling loneliness, with a significant portion dedicated to this effort. Healthcare workers, for example, are being trained to spot the signs of loneliness and offer help. The idea is that everyday interactions—from a visit to the GP to a trip to the local shop—can serve as opportunities to make a difference.

However, a surprising omission from this extensive network is the hairdressing industry. In a list of over 40 organizations, including media giants, hospitality chains, and charities, there is no mention of hair salons, barbershops, or any related professional bodies like the National Federation of Hairdressers and Barbers (NFHB). This is a glaring oversight.

As a hairdresser with 25 years of experience, I am uniquely positioned to address the issue of loneliness. Unlike many other professions, hairdressers spend sustained, regular periods of time with clients in a non-judgmental, tactile, and personal setting. They serve as a constant presence in their clients' lives, often listening to their problems, sharing in their joys, and providing a sense of connection that may be lacking elsewhere.

This is more than just a job; it's a vital community service. Hairdressers often act as informal therapists, carrying the weight of their clients' emotional burdens—from personal challenges and difficult emotions to deep-seated feelings of loneliness and isolation. For many, a monthly salon appointment is one of their few avenues for social contact outside of work.

I argue that the government is overlooking an obvious and powerful solution by not including the hairdressing industry in its strategy. Hairdressers are already doing the work of the Tackling Loneliness Network, serving as a frontline for community well-being. By ignoring this profession, the government misses a crucial opportunity to leverage an existing infrastructure of compassionate, empathetic, and dedicated individuals who are already making a difference every single day.

I believes that the government's approach of "throwing money and re-touching" parts of society that don't see their communities every day is flawed. Instead of starting from scratch, the solution lies in empowering those who are already helping. I propose that hairdressers should be given the proper training and tools to effectively support the people they see daily.

Hairdressers are affectionately called "therapists," and there's a reason for that. By providing them with an understanding of mental health issues and effective communication strategies, we can enhance their ability to help clients navigate their feelings of loneliness. This approach would be more efficient, impactful, and would recognize the invaluable role that hairdressers already play in society. It's a call to action: acknowledge the silent work of hairdressers and give them the resources they need to save the world from loneliness, one haircut at a time.

Jamie Oliver is a familiar face on British television, having built a brand around his "mockney" charm and accessible cooking. He's a national treasure known for his culinary activism and business ventures. However, despite his public success, I’m taking a critical look at one particular aspect of his public image: his hair. The stylist who has built a successful career specialty in styling—a word I would emphasise, suggesting it is distinct from the more technical skill of haircutting, has been tasked with the difficult exercise of cutting his hair, an exercise most would find challenging.

The challenges of Jamie Oliver's hair. It's not a straightforward head of hair; it's "slippery." It's fine but dense and grows quickly. The most significant challenge, however, are the two cowlicks above his left eye, which can only be described as "tricky buggers." These issues require advanced training and practice, which I actively pursued to master difficult hair types and hairlines.

Looking at Oliver's hairstyles over the years, I’ve realised he's never really seemed fully comfortable with his hair. Early on, a dishevelled look suited his younger, thinner appearance. As he's aged, his hair has become more difficult to manage Now with.the stylist, lacking the proper cutting skills, has only been able to accommodate Oliver's requests for short, slicked-back styles, which were easier to manage but still looked awkward due to his cowlicks. The result is unflattering. He looks even puffier and more bloated his hair somehow super imposed onto his face.

But the situation has reached breaking point now that Oliver is growing his hair out. I’m reluctantly critical of the results because It's not the stylist’s fault. This is just another example of an underqualified individual profiting from a lack of high-level skill, a problem which is endemic in the industry. I’m frustrated. While I’ve dedicated my career to mastering the difficult art of haircutting, a "substandard" result is being showcased on national television, garnering thousands of pounds in pay.

Jamie Oliver is a "brilliant personality," but his hair has reached an impasse.

Ps. Jamie had recently had his haircut. It made the national news. It wasn’t by me, but I coined it months before it needed to happen. I could have done a better job.