ost everybody has a funny story to tell about their own hair, usually about some dreadful mishap -a wrong color choice, a major style mistake, an accidental baldness. Over the years in my own work place -a mirrored, spotlit and crowded stage -I have seen daily drama, ranging from "historical to tragical (no pastoral, I'm strictly urban) to comical." I remember years ago, styling actress Madeline Kahn's hair for her role in the movie Blazing Saddles. As I finished, I began to massage her scalp and finger-comb her hair into place, a technique I had evolved to go with my sculpt/cutting work. It also helped to relax the client. The salon was abuzz with customers and stylists, when all of a sudden Madeline began to bark loudly. At first it startled me, until I realized that she was simply expressing pure pleasure at what I was doing. Ms. Madeline Kahn in the role of pampered poodle. (Mel Brooks would have been proud of her.)

When I first started out as a young hairdresser in New York, I landed a job on the beauty floor at Henri Bendel's working with a very popular stylist named Paul Mitchell. Paul and I, who had actually met and worked together in London, quickly became good friends and cohorts in what was then one of Manhattan's most elegant salons. As well as being a superb hairdresser, Paul was a brilliant public relations man, coming up with one great idea after another. One summer, he came across a consignment of Dynel "man-made fiber" half-head wigs that inspired a promotion he called “The Beach Wig." The idea was that a woman could slick her hair back and wear the wig to the beach, tying a bandanna around the top half so that she could protect her hair and look good at the same time.

It was a simple enough promo, and it was running smoothly, until it came to Mrs. Stone. Her wig was on special order -either the size or the color was the problem, maybe both. Those were the days when women paid ritual visits to their hairdressers. Week after week, Mrs. Stone would come to get her hair done and ask for her beach wig. She was increasingly urgent about it, especially as the summer was wearing on and it seemed the perfect solution to her curly hair. Finally it arrived and I ceremoniously put it on her head. There it sat -outsize, untrimmed, shaggy -resembling nothing so much as a dead raccoon. There were a few politely-stifled giggles from nearby work stations. Then a tsunami wave of laughter swept the salon. Fortunately, Mrs. Stone -always a terrific sport -laughed the loudest. That was the one wig that never made it to the beach!

Hair usually makes a statement, but it can even create a diversion. Recently a client told me a delicious story. She and a friend were at a major event in the area near where her country house is. It was a benefit, designed to raise money for a local music society, and the local gentry and not -so-gentry were all in attendance. As she made her way through the bustling crowd, she suddenly spotted the man she had been dating with another woman. It was too late to retrace her steps and avoid being seen -dressed as she was to the conspicuous nines -so she could do nothing but press on. Just as she was about to come face to face with her paramour and his lady friend, a woman stopped her and in a very loud voice exclaimed, "I must tell you I have been admiring your hair all evening. You have the best haircut I've ever seen!" After thanking her admirer, she turned, greeted the couple warmly and made a triumphant exit, her hair having saved the evening and her self-esteem.