I know people who have a weekly blow dry. Does that sound unbelievably decadent to you? It does to me. While I’m perfectly happy to take myself along to a hairdresser every three months for a trim, I tend to save a blow dry for occasions. This is perhaps remiss of me; I am all too aware of how very polished a groomed head of hair makes one look and, by the same token, how little effort need go into make-up once hair is coiffed.
My awareness of the joys of a good blow dry was considerably raised following an appointment at the glorious House of Rush on Piccadilly last month. I put my trust and my hair in the talented hands of Rhian, who set about teasing my locks into bouncy waves following a Kerastase treatment, general trim and the addition of some well-placed layers.
As the presence of a blow-dry is a rarity in my life, I decided to take it out on the town. After visiting Sketch and The Wolseley, I flitted round Liberty feeling rather pleased with life indeed. The lift of my roots seemed to have lifted my mood too, and I found myself beatifically beaming at strangers. Is this how life is for the blow-dry addicts for whom hair worthy of a L’Oreal advert is the norm?
Day 3 of Blow-Dry
Two days later came the second and less pleasing aspect of having a perfect head of hair – the cruel moment when it needs a wash and you end up creating a sub-standard do. If I’m honest, two days was rather pushing my luck anyway; I have greasy hair and the combination of drizzle and wind had done its best to render my mane a rats nest once more. In this sense, a blow-dry is similar in nature to that other famous elevator of height and mood: stilettos. While they both make you feel marvellous, they also require effort while wearing (and, preferably, a chauffeur at your disposal). It is for this reason I keep both to the aforementioned occasion wear.
Following my home wash I found that, as Theodore Roosevelt once remarked, comparison is truly the thief of joy. My hair, though still beautifully cut (thanks Rhian), sat limply. Suddenly the mindset of surgery addicts seemed less alien to me – when could I have my next blow-dry? If I had one weekly would I get a discount? Should I go a step further and go for a long-lasting Brazilian blow dry? I was hooked. The moral of this musing? Have a blow dry. But be prepared to want a second. And a third.