I spent the lion's share of today getting my hair colored and highlighted at the newly renovated Warren Tricomi Salon in Greenwich. WT came to town a few years back, setting the record straight, that truly talented, colorists and stylists do exist outside of the 10021 zip code. No one has done it better. Frederic Fekkai is opening an outpost in April, maybe motivating the spruce up. The salon looks fantastic, sparkling clean, crisp and elegant. (I also truly appreciate their tidy, self-blow dry area, stocked with brushes, Solis hairdryers and great product. They have broken the mold on making those who dry their own hair feel like second class citizens. How does your salon treat D.Y.I.B.'s)?
I always look forward to seeing my colorist, Christopher. Christopher is an oasis of calm, even when every chair is filled with aluminum foiled heads trussed like Thanksgiving turkeys. He makes you feel like you are his only priority, and when you are in his chair, you have his undivided attention. He is the Barack Obama of hair. In addition to his fabulous skills, he is smart, witty and a little silly...he totally gets me and the only way he will lose me as a client, is with a restraining order...
How do you find a great colorist? When you see someone who's color looks great, simply approach and ask. That's how I found Christopher...3 endorsements and I knew I had to meet him. Strangers have stopped me to ask the same question and it is always flattering. What if their services are bigger than your budget? Here's where you have to make some choices, but first and foremost, remember you wear you hair, everyday, and might only slip on the Chloe coat you couldn't live without, once a week... Know your priorities.
I learned something new today...Erika, Chris's assistant asked me if I was in a rush...not sure if this was a trick question and where my yes or no would lead, I answer honestly, "no, no rush today". "O.K.", she said, "then we are going to skip the steam". She sets the timer until dusk and leaves me with two magazines. I pull out a note pad, and troll the table of contents for the beauty columns, furiously scrawling like a 50's stenographer....35 minutes later, I am ready for my rinse, shampoo and glaze.
Two lovely surprises are in store; first they have replaced the old shampoo chairs (I suspect they have been appropriately donated to Kiddie Kuts). I am reclined with my legs fully supported and my head comfortably cradled. This is nice...next the chair is providing a very gentle kneading massage that is actually pleasant. (This is the polar opposite of the massage chairs in your run of the mill nail salon. I only fell for the pedicure mugging once. How could I have known that the red vinyl barcolounger I was sitting in, was going to start peppering my kidneys with rabbit punches? I will never be lured again into this trap again. They are always stunned with disbelief, when I beg, "NO MASSAGE, PLEASE")! Next, Erika gives me a delightful head massage with my shampoo. I am braced for what is coming next, the steel wool and the Roux dye remover. I know that my forehead is about to be riced like and Idaho potato, and take some comfort in the fact that I remembered to pack a tiny first aid kit in my handbag. But it is not to be!!! Dab, dab, wipe, swipe and I am clean. I ask Erika to explain my good fortune and she obliges. "The steamer cuts the processing time in half, but it runs and stains. That's why I asked if you had some extra time today". Is this a strictly brunette problem??? I am not sure, you tell me. I do know at my next appointment I will hold the steam and leave the first aid kit in the medicine chest.
So, was it worth it? Of course. I am the virgin brunette of my youth, but with yummy, gutsy caramel highlights. Christopher is a wonderful talent and he never, ever chastises me for all the touch ups I am going to do before my next visit. And that, is a whole other story...