Color Theory

Tommy did the hair of all the wives. Bouffants, streaks, highlights, henna, they came back every week. For some it was the way he’d agitate their nape before the blade grazed their neck, blowing bits of gossip into one ear, hooking hair around the other. For others — how he understood the quasi-spiritual qualities of color, as if taping a manifesto over ONLY YOUR HAIRDRESSER KNOWS FOR SURE posters, turning his shop into a nineteenth century Salon des Refusés. The play of light and shadow meant everything.  “When do you want to look your best?”  he’d wink. “In bed, I’d bet.”

Photo credit: Jenny Anderson