I Can't Wait!

I have been looking at fashion for the past several years wondering what direction it would take! I know fashion is a barometer of the times and tells the story of what people are thinking and feeling, so what if we aren't having wonderful thoughts and not feeling very inspired or fulfilled? Would we still be wearing torn jeans and clothes that looked like they were falling off us or we forgot to fasten them and stringy, dirty hair? I wondered whether style and elegance would ever return. I think it has and I'm delighted!

I was just looking at W magazine and for the first time in years, I LOVED it. I thought the clothes and layouts were gorgeous and so were the photos. So much so that I had to know who all the photographers were and if I was right in assuming who they might be. I also wanted to know who did the hair and makeup. I don't remember the last time I took the effort to investigate. This was not the only magazine that I was impressed with lately, but a great metaphor for what I feel is changing in fashion lately.

When things are bad, socially, we either look like "things are bad" or we go retro! Back to a "feel good" time. It never works to revisit the past. The past is just that and doesn't live in the now. We soon figure that out and then we look confused in our appearance. Funny how that works! We just can't escape looking like what is going on with us.

I think though, that we are doing something new this time. We are looking before we are being. Possibly because we are so stunned by the events of the now. Wars, economy, unemployment, the instability of the stock market, our governments, illness etc. It seems like we have lost control for so long. I believe that we are being proactive, if all around us is not working, the best that we can do for ourselves is take action and be what we want to be in order to enjoy what we can control. So in the here and now it starts with fashion. I so hope that the rest follows suit!

The clothes this fall are truly rich, imaginative and in short, GORGEOUS! There is construction in suits (something that seemed to be lost for so long), femininity in dresses, beautiful and new fabrics with a lot of color! Designers are truly being creative again. I used to think that we lost all the good designers to AIDS and their just weren't any new ones worth their salt (except for a few that bordered on insanity). Women this fall will look stylish!

Two summers ago, John and I went to Europe for a few weeks for his 40th. We went to London, Paris and Tuscany. When we were in Paris, I noticed that women looked like women everywhere. I never remember French women looking any less then "stunning" whenever I was in France. This time I couldn't find stunning. I was disappointed! I wanted to be inspired as I had always been when I was in France. I felt that the whole world had become homogenized.

Hair is styled! Yippie! I may be traditional (although no one has ever used that term in describing me), but I love "style"! I never really liked poker straight hair that did nothing. I had a hard time giving it to my clients. I found that my older clients were selling their souls for the illusion of youth in wearing styles that were intended for the young. I would still try to make hair move in one direction or another or turn the ends slightly just so it would have some style. I could never use waxes that made the hair look dirty. Dirty hair is just ugly! Can't convince me otherwise. Hair now has personality! You can be an individual, not just another fashion victim by choosing your look, length, color, volume, and style. When was the last time that you bought a new dress that needed or begged for you to style or cut your hair differently, if ever (if you're young enough to never have experienced this). Do you even know what a roller is? I can't wait to make waves again!!!

Eyelashes are in! Whether they are false, clusters, extensions or just enhancing mascara. I always believed that lashes were the most important part of a woman's beauty, after lips. I would tell my clients that mascara was more important than eye liner (I would see women with no mascara but plenty of eyeliner). Lashes give dimension to the face. They create a rhythm when a woman opens or closes her eyes (my daughter, Hana, insisted that we see "Eclipse" with her yesterday. Have you ever noticed Robert Pattenson's eyelashes? They are amazingly long and thick, making his eyes very expressive! I couldn't take my eyes of them (no pun intended). In fact if you'll notice, most of the actors in Eclipse have eyelashes that much attention has been paid to, making them look romantic, sexy and expressive.

Lips are matte again and dark! I remember the first time I was in Paris, I was sent there to see the designer shows and salons by Saks Fifth Avenue. I was style Director for the Bala Cynwyd Pennsylvania Beauty Salon. The hottest Hair salon at the time was Jean Louis David. So I spent a few hours there to see what was happening. The first thing that I noticed was that every woman was looking in the mirror applying red lipstick, no matter what their hair color was. I thought that they looked feminine and sexy. Not at all what American woman were doing at the time. There is nothing sexier then red lips! What more does a woman need but red luscious lips and long fluttering lashes? The rest is minimal.

So, gorgeous clothes, an expressive face and beautiful hair. I can't wait!

I'm Not Ungrateful!

I was raised by a mother who couldn't love, or if she did it felt more like pain. She just didn't have the capacity! She was the kind of woman everyone feared, especially her children. I was one of five, the second from the youngest. For seven years I was the baby, but that didn't mean anything when it came to getting more attention or love. I feared her more than anything. When she came home, she would keep the shoes she wore that day on the steps leading up to the second floor. If for some reason we pissed her off, we had to run from her to avoid her wrath. Sometimes that meant upstairs, and she would fling a shoe at you and hit you dead on. Never missed! If you ran into the dining room and around the dining table to get away from her, she would block your path with a chair, catch you and either slap you or, if she had the time to prepare, she would have my father’s belt in hand and whip you with it when she caught you. When she washed my face at night, it felt like she was removing it. When we got hurt, we would go to my father because he would be caring and gentle when dressing a wound. My mother would hold the wounded area so tightly that her touch hurt more then the wound.

I survived! But not without lots of support. Much of it came from psychiatrists I’d started seeing when I was sixteen or seventeen years old. I had asked my sister-in-law to help me find one, because I was in a lot of pain. I was conflicted about being gay; it just wasn't acceptable then. I thought that if I got help, I might be able to change. Even psychiatrists at that time thought that they could cure homosexuality.

Support came from some other members of my family too, like that sister-in-law I mentioned earlier, and my eldest sister, Evelyn, whom I adored and admired immensely. She was gorgeous and soooo loving. She did teach me at an early age that I could be loved and that I was lovable. She would take me special places like Fisher’s Restaurant. In those days it was a big deal for an eight-year-old to go to a place that served shrimp cocktail. She would buy me great clothes. She adored me! Still does to this day, even though she is certifiable! I am still grateful to her for all that she did for me then. Now, its almost impossible to have a relationship with her, she is so far gone. She is a seventy seven-year-old Born Again Minister of the Jewish faith. That says it all.

As for my sister-in-law, she was there when my brother couldn't be. He has difficulty having relationships with everyone, especially his own children. He is now eighty. My sister-in-law turned out to be very much like my mother. So as not to have two women in my life to torture me, I don't speak to her. My brother goes with the program at her demand. They have two children that they don't speak to from time to time (for years at a time).

Most of my support came from my clients. These were and are women who "were" nurturing! Many of them loved me. Others taught me, some took care of me. Most contributed to my life in ways that were unimaginable, and I am grateful!

When I was first starting out, at 14 or 15, I would go from door to door in the Northeast section of Philadelphia where I lived. I charged 25 cents to set, cut, color or do anything to women's hair that they would let me. There was one woman, Shirley, who owned a beauty supply store on the corner of a block close to my house. I would buy my supplies from her. I suppose she wondered what such a young person was doing buying so much stuff. When I told her what I did, she asked me to do her touchups (double process blonde) and set her hair every week. She never let me cut it, though. No one did in the beginning, except my sister-in-law. She was the first person to allow me to cut her hair. I was supposed to trim her long hair but she ended up with a short "bubble." Still, she never complained. Instead she claimed to love it. I still don't know to this day if she was telling the truth. Shirley had a brother, Harry Leiber, who at that time was a renowned hair stylist in the Cheltenham area of Philadelphia; I would later work for him, twice. She taught me a great deal about everything hair.

After about a year, right before I was sixteen, another wonderful woman, Lillian, took me under her wing. Lillian had a salon in the basement of her row home on Bustleton Avenue in the Northeast. She had heard about me and asked me to work for her after school Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. The salon was open late Thursday and Friday evenings. I got out of school by 3 pm, and could be at the beauty shop (it certainly wasn't a salon) by 3:30 or 4 on Thursdays and Fridays. I worked all day Saturday too. Lillian was a short, plump woman with very thin hair (you could clearly see her scalp). On Saturdays she would make me lunch in her kitchen upstairs, and gave me anything I wanted. She even fed me smoked sturgeon. She was so kind and caring.

There was another salon across the street, Bernie's, owned by Bernie Miller. He too had heard about me and made it impossible for me to stay at Lillian's by reporting me to the state board for not having a license. He had a teacher's license allowing him to send in hours for me so that I could get my license. I had no choice but to work for Bernie, so I did. I was sixteen. Bernie would book me every fifteen minutes so that I had to learn to be extremely fast.

I soon became the wunderkind of the neighborhood and developed a tremendous following. At first I worked the same hours that I did at Lillian's. I was making more money than my father was earning. Knowing that college was not an option (none of my siblings went to college) I decided to quit school and work full time. My mother was against this, but she agreed to it. And so I began to make real bucks. My clients adored me! They would bring me things, bake for me, make sure that I had lunch (at least the nice ones did) and invite me to their houses. Bernie and his wife would have me over all the time.

Bernie's wife was gorgeous! It was his third marriage, her second. She had a 6-year-old son by her first marriage that Bernie called "Pecker Checker!" I liked her a lot, despite the fact that she was so self-involved she couldn't stop looking in the mirror. She didn't give me much more than compliments on the way I did her hair, but she preferred that I did it over the rest of the staff. For Bernie, I was a meal ticket. Revenue! I have no idea whether he liked me or not.

One of their friends, Bea, was an attractive blonde with thin hair who became my client when she heard of my reputation. She was graceful and kind with a gentile voice. I painted oils at that time, and I had painted a 12"x 50" relief of a skyline. She bought it from me and hung it over her fireplace. She too would make me lunch, invite me to her house, and include me in family events.

At nineteen I had my own apartment in the Northeast and went to work for Harry Leiber. I had worked for him when I was fifteen for two weeks as an assistant when his sister, Shirley, told him about me. At that time, I was so fascinated by what I was learning by watching every stylist in his salon that I didn't assist at all, so I was fired. He was a funny-looking man. Silver hair, very short, very skinny but with a pot belly. He always had a cigar in his mouth. His wife, Lillian, was the receptionist at the salon, and she applied hair color to some clients. She too was strange-looking: platinum blonde with black eyeliner that looked like she added more each day to what she had on the day before. She and Harry would invite me to their house every Friday night for dinner, or we would go out to a restaurant, and they would treat. I was the top producer in their salon so I felt that their generosity was insincere. Again, just another meal ticket.

It was the clients who really cared. I had one client who would bring me a new word to learn each week. She wanted to make sure that my vocabulary was up to par. Others brought me things, taught me about books, suggested reading material, discussed politics and much, much more.

I left Harry Leiber, moved to a salon on the Main Line, got married and had Seth, my son. When Seth was born, the gifts were overwhelming! Clients were delighted for me. It was as if a member of their own family had this event happen to them. They would invite me to their children's weddings, bar mitzvahs, and bat mitzvahs. Several offered me their vacation homes. One vacation home came with a boat and captain.

These women and men have taught me how to be generous, kind, caring and have made me more intelligent, thoughtful, loving and trusting. I could never repay their generosity in several lifetimes. I'm grateful!

*Ancedote*

I wrote this blog on July 4th, 2010 and sent it to my friend, Janet Teacher to be edited. I didn't realize that she had edited it and was waiting for the edited edition. I recieived this letter with the picture at the top of this blog on Wednesday, July 7th. Bea had no idea that I was writing about her. I hadn't seen her in 46 years. I'm having lunch with her ASAP!!!!!.

Dear Maurice:

I came across this picture of a collage done by you when you were 16 years old. It has been hanging over my fireplace ever since I convinced you to give it to me. It makes me think of you many times during the day when I happen to pass by our fireplace. It brings me joy every time I look at it. When I think of how long ago it was, its hard to believe. You have gone on to become famous and I am now 82 years old. But when I remember the days when you did my hair, I smile. I hope you are happy in your success and maybe someday our paths will cross. I always think fondly of you. You were special even at 16 years old.

With affection,

Bea Gordon

Jerseylicious?

My staff was ranting about the TV show Jerseylicious, so naturally I was curious to see what all the hype was about. I had never tuned in when the show was on live, so I YouTubed it and viewed some outtakes. I was not as horrified as I thought I would be, but then last night I got to see the entire show. I can’t tell you how embarrassing it is to have one’s profession portrayed in such a way.

When I was younger, I was ashamed to tell anyone that I was a hairstylist because of the stereotype that went with the job. When asked to list my profession, I would write something like “Artist” or “Professional.” Never was I going to reveal that I was a hairstylist. Then finally, when I developed enough self-confidence to realize that I was an intelligent being, and that even a hairstylist could be admirable, I confessed. I think it was around the time I opened OMG.

I was not willing to compromise my integrity and hire those embarrassing hairstylist types if I didn’t have to. But I did! I hired weirdos like Joseph Ferrere, I guess because I was either desperate or thought that I might be able to teach them some dignity. But I was wrong! They are who they are. And the clients who go to them go for the same reason that they watch Jerseylicious--because it’s weird and vulgar! Those getups they wear on the show are too much!

I have to admit that sometimes my own staff dress in ways that make me wonder, but for the most part they are fashionable if not creative in their attire and sometimes even rather conservative. And then there is me. I’m a slob! So I dress in disposable clothing that I buy at Gap on sale or at Old Navy. But I do believe that I am somewhat fashionable and not vulgar in my attire. I may wear a lot of jewelry, but then that’s “fashionable” right now for men. I’ve observed that as women get older, they too tend to wear more jewelry, like larger diamonds, so maybe that’s my answer to the mid-life crisis. I guess it detracts from the wrinkles.

But let’s get back to Jerseylicious. Gayle is the epitome of what I discussed in my first blog: the woman who’s over 60 with hair that is too long, and who’s trying to compete with her own daughter. My advice for her is “Cut that fuckin’ hair! Get some style! After all, that is what you are supposed to represent.” Style!!! Clearly, it’s something that none of the show’s cast knows anything about. They all look like hookers! Not one of them is fashionable, well put together, or frankly, even acceptable. I wouldn’t use any of them as a stylist unless I wanted to work the streets. And I can’t imagine who would go to this salon and patronize these hairdressers (notice that I refer to them as “hairdressers,” not “hair stylists.” Calling them stylists would be giving all of them more credit then they deserve).

I have often wondered why my profession attracts this type of person. At first, I thought it was because they weren’t smart enough to get into college and in most cases barely graduated high school (me included). So they get a student loan and go to “hairdressing school” (as they call it) and hope to make a living. But I think there may be more to it than that. I think it may be the chemicals that we work with.

The newest salon product under suspicion is the keratin treatment. (How can a chemical process be a “treatment?”) When these products were first introduced, they were said to be a combination of keratin and formaldehyde. Naturally, there was concern that formaldehyde, being a known carcinogen, made the process dangerous. So companies sought to reformulate the products to exclude formaldehyde. One such company, De Pasqual, claimed that its formulation didn’t contain formaldehyde, so I sent two of my stylists to be trained in the process. The next day I asked how it went and they said it was good. But during our conversation, I mentioned the suspect ingredient and one of my stylists said that it contained no formaldehyde. Instead it contained a formaldehyde derivative called “Amaldehyde.” Take off the “F” and it’s no longer carcinogenic? Bullshit!

So we went looking for any other product that would eliminate formaldehyde, as we were losing money by failing to offer this treatment, which had become one of the biggest moneymaking services at other salons.

The company that makes some of the hair color we use at OMG made just such a product. On the front of the box it proclaimed that there was “Zero formaldehyde.” But being a skeptic, I asked Jenni to call the company and get a list of all the ingredients in the product. All of it seemed okay except for two chemicals that were foreign to us: Methylchloroisothiazolinone http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Methylchloroisothiazolinone and Methylisothiazolinone http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Methylisothiazolinone. The first has been shown to cause neurological damage in rats, and the second is suspected of being a carcinogen.

I guess that explains why we don’t do these processes at OMG, but I think I’ve finally figured out why some people in my profession behave in ways that make me cringe. It’s the chemicals! I guess after years of handling these toxic substances, some of these stylists must have neurological damage, or something.