Hello And Welcome To Cher And Company Salon: An Analysis

“Hello and welcome to Cher and Company Salon.” Those were the first words I heard as I hesitantly surrendered my jacket on that first day. It was a first job. I never imagined that would still be me over two years later. It started as a way to get away from desperate attempts at generating savings from germ-infested children, but it became a haven where I learned the utmost value of human interaction in its simplest moments. Not long into my first shifts, I discovered the true art of a hairstylist is not the haircuts or the perms or the nails. Sure, they pamper you with that desperately needed hair wash and they match that photo of that one celebrity from your google search of “short haircuts for straight hair,” but a hairstylist has a much
A stark contrast from the exhausted figure I witnessed in the back room, the hairdresser approaches the client cheerily, with finesse and ease. She begins with the general inquiries into their life—their spouse, their children, their job—which she (of course) has written down meticulously in her client book. Among the smells of brightly colored shampoo wafting through and the ever-present mirrors emblazoned with gold borders, the stylist begins her ready-made topics: she started taking pottery classes, Jennifer Aniston is getting divorced, and she ate at the most amazing
As I swipe the client’s card, we are rarely in silence. She gushes about the stylist, who had encouraged her to go for that promotion she wouldn’t have otherwise. It’s in those simple moments of exchange when I don’t hear much about how they love their new hair, but about the person behind it. The stylist isn’t the only one making these connections, I am fortunate to make them to. From the simple surrender of the coat, the brew of coffee, or the smile as they leave, I become attached to the familiar and new faces. Janet gets a blowout every week, rain or shine, and is most likely to drink 3-4 cups of coffee during her appointment at 4:00 in the afternoon. Rob comes to get his hair colored (a fact he is embarrassed of) and enjoys talking to me about waterskiing (he’s skied competitively and I well…don’t drown). Paige is the 7-year-old who is always aiming for the perfect braid and accepts my nail painting skills when I’m needed as a distraction. In that time, no one is a stranger. This is a place where I don’t mind getting asked about my plans for college; as long as I get to ask about their recent