If I belonged to any monarchy, my title by birthright would be Queen of awkwardness. When I say I’m awkward, I don’t mean a bit socially introverted and shy. I mean keeping my shoes and socks on during a massage awkward. SO you can probably imagine my reluctance to make beauty and spa treatments, as much as I enjoy fresh skin and manicured nails. If only a spa existed that made me as comfortable as when I’m watching Drag Race sans pants avec takeaway.
Finding the right hairdresser is just as important as finding your soul mate. Growing up, my mum subjected my to an arranged marriage with Toni&Guy where I spent the first 10 years of my life with a razor sharp bob. So escaping this marriage in my adolescence left me unaware of mine or my hairs worth. I spent years between box dyes and highlights from that woman who is your mum’s mate’s mate who did hairdressing at some point and owns a few bottles of peroxide? You know the one. And the time I went to salons I was usually greeted by snotty apprentices who would say OH MY GAWD R YE SURE YE WANNA GO DAT SHURT I WUDUNT IFIWERU but proceed to give me urine yellow highlights (cough, cough Boudoir Broadway cough). So when I decided my hair was something I had to invest in, that’s when I found the hairdresser for me: Ro at Voodou Button Street.