I slay hair at Hair. The salon aptly named after the hippie Broadway play released in the powerful year of 1969.
Twenty-six years ago I walked into a cozy, energetic home with eleven bold stylists and friendly support staff. The owner, Charles Tuozzoli, sat me down for two hours in the basement to give me the rundown. No chewing gum. No personal phone calls. No wearing denim to work. It was spring, the scent of fresh floral blooms filled the air around the ivy-covered fence surrounding the enchanted little fortress I had just become a part of.
The original sign, an easter egg for you all
The magic of Hair is sprinkled about the salon in its culture. Sharing clientele and encouraging education, promotes a grand camaraderie that extends to summer picnics, yearly Holiday parties and jokes in the break room. With no enforced uniform, we stylists express our individuality and although trained in similar techniques each of us has a unique flair.
26 years from my life-changing moment, Hair celebrated 50 years. With its decor updated, staff tripled and ownership wand passed magically without a blink of the eye to three master stylists who together seamlessly carry on the sword. Of course, we will miss our founder, our guru, our father figure who taught us well. The enchanted realm he started lives between the neutral-toned walls and forever bustling environment.
1994?