"P earl's Hair Salon is a tiny place tucked around the side of an old four-storey apartment building. It's within walking distance of my house in downtown Toronto, and for years, I've been sneaking into Pearl's every month to have my roots touched up. There are only three chairs facing the mirrors, and on busy days, Pearl darts between them like a hummingbird, multi-tasking to the ding of a timer."
"None of us minds the tired decor and the occasional blip when the air conditioner fails or the hot water inconveniently surges; we feel like a supportive community of like-minded souls, even though we're strangers. We do what women have always done in the intimacy of a beauty salon: we let down our hair-we confide and confess; we talk about love."
A tiny hair salon sits beside an old four-storey apartment building within walking distance of a home in downtown Toronto. Three chairs face the mirrors and Pearl moves between them like a hummingbird on busy days. Regular clients are mostly pensioners who appreciate low prices and a classical radio station, and they accept the tired decor and occasional mechanical glitches. The salon creates a supportive community of strangers who share intimacy, confessions, and conversations about love. During a coloring appointment, a client connects with a fellow patron from the same hometown, and their talk shifts to past relationships and personal histories.
Read at The Walrus
Unable to calculate read time
Collection
[
|
...
]