A journal kept by the salon, written between appointments, posted between seasons. Notes on hairdressing, the small rituals of upkeep, the people of Glasgow who pass through No. 386, and the products we keep on the back shelf.
A longer piece, written in the quiet hour after closing.
The work is in the grow-out. We talk about painting for the year ahead, not for the morning after, and the small choices at the bowl that decide how a colour ages on you.
Twenty-eight years of small observations sorted by category, written by hand.
Most of the trade will push you to stop before fifty. From twenty-eight years on the chair, a quieter way to decide.
Most grey-blending advice talks foils. We use the brush. Here is how the freehand work at the parting softens the line between coloured length and natural silver.
"Change your hair, change your life."
A practical primer from the side of the chair. The four things the colourist needs to see at consultation, and the one thing guests bring that always slows the work.
Most comparison pieces stop at the technique. We compare the two where it counts, at the root, four centimetres into the grow-out.
Fifty years of highlighting, in one drawer. The plastic cap at the back, foils folded in their squares, the soft-bristle brush on top. A colourist walks the timeline.
"Every client has a unique head of hair when it comes to history, condition, shape. So our approach to each client is unique."
What changes when the room is yours alone. Not a list of perks, but a frank account of how single-occupancy changes the quality of a colour decision.
Audrey in Rome, Seberg in Paris, Twiggy at Leonard's salon, Mia at her own bathroom sink. The cut has a longer story than the name.
A century of the same clean line, from Antoine de Paris in 1909 through Louise Brooks to Vidal Sassoon's 1964 revival, told from the chair.
A short note from the salon, one essay, one before-and-after, the diary of dates we have left. Never more than that.