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My weekly visit to the mall is not just for shopping, but also for a visit to my hairdresser. My hairdresser is the old-fashioned "Unisex" type, where people of both sexes can get their hair done by male or female stylist of their choice all in the same space. I have received many invitations to go to newer and better ones, with modern comfort and special sections for men and women, but no, I stay with my old salon, even though the smoking of the other clients bothers me sometimes.
The reason is not only that my stylist is doing it better, but I also have special needs. In the first place I prefer a male stylist because I need his flattering words, like: "Tante you look so bright today, is it your birthday?" Or he may give me a compliment for my dress, that looks just right for me and the colors that match my hair so well.
There is something special that I come for, which used to be one of the sources of extra information in the days prior to the freedom of press: the gossip. No where else can you get more juicy and funny gossip than from these hairdressers. He used to say jokingly, that the hairdressing is his business and the gossip is bonus.
His gossips are really first class. Not because they used to relate to the former first family, but they are usually ones, nobody has ever heard of. He usually ads a philosophy in his remarks that beats the best social criticism. If he was in Hollywood he may be able to fill the gossip columns like Elsa Maxwell or Sheila Graham, or if he was in Washington D.C. he may fill the Washington Whisper column. If he could write he may be able to outdo Kitty Kelly.
He would usually start with whispering in my ears: "Have you heard the latest scandal?" Then he would continue telling me the gossip, such as the one about a lucky girl will finally get married, whereas her child is already attending kindergarten.
I would never have known the people who were involved in the drug trade or even the names of the drugs, and the nicknames as they are known here, like shabu-shabu or ecstasy. But now I am as familiar with them as with my daily make-up kit. I had a whole encyclopedia of the scandals people around me were involved in and could publish a 'Who's who' of the mistresses, to whom they belonged and where they built their new palaces.
A few months ago it was about spending. "It's amazing how much money is spent on jewelry, Bulgari, Cartier, Tiffany, you name it and they buy it," he complained.
"People have done it all the time," I remarked. "I know lots of people who only buy expensive jewelry, some are even proud to be categorized as 'collectors'."
"That's different," he answered, shaking his head, " a few years ago we were rich, nobody cared what you buy. You would be even chided for not spending, but now we are poor, and besides this is the time of reformation and krismon! People are hungry and people want justice. And they are so stupid, they do most of their payments by cash, hundreds of thousands of the greenbacks all in cash!"
"You mean that they take their greenbacks in cash with them when they travel to the States? What about customs regulations and pick-pockets?"
"Tens of thousands, Tante you must be kidding! They take hundreds of thousands with them or may be thousands of thousands! There are people who are above the law, they can never get caught and the body guards will scare the pickpockets off."
When I visited him last time he had much less to tell and I asked him why. He shook his head and said. "All this freedom of press business is taking the business out of me. If it is not in the usual papers, the tabloids will publish them or people may buy the photocopies. And then there is something new, the something "net" or "web", I don't understand what it is, but now my clients know better than I know about the scandals, the divorces, the drugs, all of the things that I used to tell them."
"But you are a better story teller and a good hairstylist," I said in an attempt to comfort him. He just shook his head and said solemnly: "Yes, but there is one thing with which they beat me, always. They give their readers a special bonus: nice pictures of the beautiful girls wearing so-called body stockings. But poor me, the gossip used to be the bonus I gave my clients, what more do I have to offer?"
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