My hair looks incredible at the moment. I know because people keep telling me – in bakeries, cafes and when I was getting my tattooed eyebrows touched up yesterday.
What to say? “Thanks!” feels conceited. “My hairdresser’s a genius,” is (part of) the truth. I often narcissistically worry what would happen if he were to slip away before me; how wrong would it be to bring him five or six wigs to cut on his deathbed? In a similar vein, I was thrilled yesterday, when S, who has done my brows for decades, told me her daughter may be going into the family business – succession secured!
