In my twenties I vowed never to patronize a hair salon whose name was a hair-related pun for no other reason that I find them hokey, corny, and unoriginal. Hair to Eternity. A Cut Above. [Insert image of me sticking a finger down my throat.] And, lucky me, I lived in a town near an airport, which provides fodder for a whole sub-genre of names, like--yes--Hairport. Runway Styles. Feel free to let your imagination go wild here.
Conveniently, at the time I disavowed said salons, I lived in Boston and had my hair done at Michael Salon in Coolidge Corner. There. Perfect, I thought. Call it a salon and people will know what your business is. Attach your name to it and we can tell you are serious about it. You are putting your reputation at stake. Who cuts your hair? Michael. Not some gum-snapping parody of herself that I would expect to find in the pun-named salons. Even though I know that’s not really fair. It’s just my thing. Or not my thing.
I don’t like fake sugar. I will drink diet colas but I do not like white diet sodas (lemon lime or ginger ales, for example) and I don’t like diet desserts. (Really, what’s the point? I’d rather have fruit than fat free, sugar free something or other. Gross.) Hearing someone say anywayS sends a chill up my spine, Jell-O makes me gag (I force myself if there’s vodka in it), I find tongue piercing vile, and I don’t like salons with pun names. And now I am a hypocrite.
The truth will set you free. I go to Headliners Salon and Day Spa, in Tolland. A few years ago, when I was the Yearbook Advisor, my staff chipped in for a gift certificate for me. This is a salon they were aware of, close to the town in which I teach and they live, closer still to the UConn Storrs campus where so many of our students go to college. It’s not particularly convenient for me, unless it’s an after school appointment, but it was a generous gift certificate, and I was between salons—moving haplessly and dissatisfied from one salon to the next, when I found myself happy with my haircut and foil and the stylist who had an appointment available. I have been patronizing the salon ever since.
Which is not to say I’m over the pet peeve necessarily. I just drive there on autopilot now and try to ignore the name. When I’m asked where I have my hair done I say softly, Headliners, and with more volume (no pun intended) SALON and DAY SPA.
So don’t think for a minute you’ll find me toasting to a Happy New YearS with a glass of White Zinfandel. Ever.
PS Thanks, Jill, who reminded me today, after reading my homage to her, of something about which I had not yet ranted...