Didn’t exactly know what to expect when I walked into the posh Indra Salon in Andover to meet with Hiroshi Kitamura, hair stylist to the stars.
This man’s hands touched the hair of Audrey Hepburn, Jackie O., and countless other icons. His next client? Moi.
I already have a great stylist — Indra owner April Lyn Graffeo. I mean really, what can one guy with one pair of scissors to do my unruly locks?
It turns out quite a lot. I didn’t understand the magic, the talent of the man I now call the hair whisperer. Now I do, and believe me, I am in awe.
When I met Hiroshi, I was seated in a chair in front of that long mirror (you know the one ladies). Given his reputation, I expected a rock star with an entourage. What I found was a very sweet guy.
He reminded me a little of photos I had seen of Seiji Ozowa. Not so much his looks, but the way Hiroshi carried himself and gently gripped his combs — like he might turn to an orchestra any second and start off a Mozart piece.
The first thing Hiroshi did was examine my hair, the way one might examine a used car. He tossed it around, curled it around his fingers, he stretched it out along his hands and read it like a book — sort of a hair stylist’s version of kicking the tires, I imagine.
Though my hair barely had wave, let alone curl, Hiroshi knew I had a perm about a year ago. He also knew I hadn’t had it done at Indra, because it wasn’t up to their standards. (“If you told me you had this done here, I would yell at someone,” he said.)
He examined my fine straight hair, said he would cut it today but I should get a perm — a good perm at Indra — in three months or so. Then he held up a huge chunk of my straight hair and said he’d like to cut off about four to five inches.
To let you know, I haven’t hair this short since I was 4. Dorothy Hamel was all the rage and my mother thought I would look cute in that kind of hair cut (hey, at least it wasn’t a leisure suit). I don’t think I ever really thought about how I wanted my hair to look then. When I did, well, there were no more short hair cuts. Ever.
Still, I let Hiroshi do what he wanted. I hate it when people tell me how to write. I am not about to tell him how to cut hair. I turned myself over to Hiroshi and his assistant.
He didn’t cut my hair as much as prune it. Swift, confident movements. At times the scissors were just a whir. When he was happy with his work, he started to play with my hair again.
He’d toss different sections, to see how they fell. He scrunched. He spritzed. He massaged. Suddenly my fine thin hair looked great, I thought he was done. He wasn’t even close.
As this magician cast his spell over my formerly limp locks, he began to tell me a little of his story. Hiroshi grew up planning to be an athlete. After a bad motorcyle accident, his dreams were dashed.
Instead of letting his injuries defeat him, Hiroshi took up the shears and never looked back. He’s worked all over the world. His client list a who’s who of Hollywood.
Yet, he’s still out in the world, teaching, learning, experimenting, trying new things. He can’t stand to be bored. When he’s not doing hair, Hiroshi will find himself doing some other creative endeavor — painting, carpentry — whatever strikes his fancy.
We only have one life, he says, he wants to try it all. What zest for life his this man has.
One thing, however, elludes him — “I can’t sing,” he told me with a laugh.
Soon Hiroshi was done. Two hours had flown by — not my typical hair cut by any means. Meeting Hiroshi was a treat. It was such a glamorous, once in a lifetime experience.
Though he’ll be back at Indra in a few months (check their web site for details), I don’t know if this can be topped.
