David Rozman review

I haven’t been to a hairdresser for many, many years. Back in my early twenties I was a regular at one of the big fancy names in Manchester.

I used to go to them every six weeks for a cut and colour. That was, however, also a time in my life when I didn’t know what worked best for me in terms of make-up, fashion, or hair. In other words, I was a lost cause.

And so, I put my hair, nails, and make-up choices in the hands of folk I believed to be ‘experts’ in their respective fields. Thing is, I’m mixed-race with afro-European hair: hair that should not, and cannot, be treated in the same way as straight up-and-down European hair.

I felt listened to, understood – that my opinion actually mattered. This was going to be okay. I would not leave the salon looking like an electrocuted version of Miss Piggy.

For example, I shouldn’t use products that contain alcohol as they dry my hair out. Basic stuff, but information I didn’t possess back then as they plied my younger, more gullible self with unnecessary products prior to my freshly re-coiffed exit.

As my twenties rolled on though, I began taking back control of my style, figuring out what worked for me and what didn’t. Then, one day, I woke up, looked in the mirror, and was horrified to see my hair was nigh-on blonde. It looked awful. I couldn’t believe I’d been slinking about for so long thinking I actually looked good. What’d started out as a few strategic highlights here and there, to lift my colouring and complexion and give me that ‘sun-kissed’ look, had actually left me with a barnet that looked more like Miss Piggy with a bad perm. I was mortified.

So began the long process of returning my hair to its original state and colour. Thing was, I was now angry and distrustful. Angry at all the ‘You look fabulous dahling’ comments so people could do whatever they wanted with my hair, rather than what actually worked for me. And so from then on I developed a deep distrust of hairdressers. All of them.

Since I've been writing for Body Confidential, however, I’ve enjoyed numerous conversations with the girls in the office regarding health and beauty titbits. Behind the sleek exterior that is Body Confidential and its editor, Lynda Moyo, lies a goldmine of invaluable insider information. So when word reached me from several sources in ManCon Towers of a decent and trustworthy hairdresser who was good with colour, my interest was piqued.

I won’t pretend I made the appointment with glee and anticipation; despite the assurances, I booked with a degree of suspicion and reluctance. Grey hairs are now appearing though and there’s nothing like vanity to spur a woman into action (this one at least).

A great raft of them seemed to appear all-of-a-sudden-one-day lined up along the edge of my hairline. Sweeping back my hair into a ponytail I was dismayed by their stealth-like presence.

Sat in the chair at David Rozman I was nervous as hell and full of a headache with the stress of being back at the hands of a hairdresser after a long hiatus.

My colourist, Phil, however, together with David, asked me questions – lots of them. They asked what I wanted. I explained. Not clearly, admittedly, but as best I could. They listened. They brought out examples of colours. This was helpful.

They asked more questions and, soon, I reached a place of calm. I felt listened to, understood – that my opinion actually mattered. This was going to be okay. I would not leave the salon looking like an electrocuted version of Miss Piggy.

They would also use organic products on my hair, including Moroccan Oil, Aveda, and John Masters. This was very good. In fact, they employed several environmentally-sensitive techniques during my treatment including the use of paper-style, recyclable eco-towels. Nice touch.

A few hours later I left the salon with luscious, bouncing, grey-be-gone locks. It takes a subtle, talented, attentive hairdresser to make your hair look like nature intended, only better.

But that’s exactly what the team at David Rozman achieved. The best part is, though, they’ve reinstalled my faith and belief in hairdressers - or in their salon at least.