The day arrives, a day that sends shivers through my toothbrush … it’s the day of the haircut. Â This dreaded day I am in Naples, Italy and about to pay my first visit to one of the city’s hairdressers.
In a froth of toothpaste I imagine a salon crowded with suntanned, Latin loveliness … icy, manicured fingernails stab down my spine.
The salon, Compagnia della Belleza, has been recommended by a confident, bilingual friend, clearly aware of my hair’s urgent need for attention.
“Don’t worry,” she tells me. “Raffaele’s good. Â He’s done Miss Italia’s hair.”
“Miss Italia?” Â Boom goes my chest – I can hardly breathe. Â This is definitely the wrong place for me to go.
My friend is undeterred. Â “I’ll make the appointment,” she promises cheerfully. Â And she does.
Now, as I tip my car down the steep ramp into the parcheggio on Via San Giacomo dei Capri I wonder why I agreed, how I ever thought it might be a good idea to bother this legendary hairdresser with my dishevelled head.  But it’s too late to change my mind … I’m almost there.
The small hairdressing salon is beside a coffee bar. Â I resist the pastries, brace myself with a cappuccino and step next door.
The salon is spotless. Â It is uncrowded, there is no sense of satisfied judgement, and my friend is there to bridge the language gap.
Raffaele, younger than I imagined, beams a welcome and steers me into a chair. Â I feel his eyes feel my hair. Â He talks to me about me, but I can’t follow much.
“Corto” (short) is a word that crops up. Â In the mirror I watch as the uniformed young ladies who assist in the salon tilt their heads from side to side considering the options as seen by Raffaele. Â There is much enthusiastic nodding.
A proposal is put to me in rapid Italian.
“Umm … non capisco …”
“No problem,” Raffaele turns away to collect a large book from the table behind us. Â I watch in the mirror as he flips through the pages then pauses.
“Questo,” he says, laying the book in front of me. Â “Bene?”
I look at the picture he has chosen. Â It is of a blonde with waves of short hair bobbed above her beautiful neck. Â Her eyes, pools behind a long fringe, are the colour of Capri’s sea.
“Bella! Ma …” I pause. Is this a joke? Â This isn’t just a reshape … it’s a chance to launch a thousand ships. Â I study Raffaele sideways. Â His bearded face is serious, his brow furrowed, there is no hint of mockery.
“You like?” he asks.
“Sì,” I nod, my voice trapped between stunned and delirious.
“Bene,” says Raffaele. Â He studies the picture a little longer, and examines my uncontrollable hair. There are no signs of despair.
Next he puts the book down, picks up his scissors, and decides where to start.  He is a maestro on the brink of the impossible, about to create a miracle … the hope alone IS a miracle.
Behind us the ladies return to work. Â I see their reflections as they flit to and fro in the background, tidying the immaculate and, thankfully, still empty salon.
Raffaele is quick, very quick. Â He sorts my hair into small fountains on the top of my head then prunes to either side with occasional pauses to consult the book. Â Measurements are strict, some taken with a ruler … and the chopping goes on.
In half an hour it is all over. Â I am blown, and dusted, and Raffaele stands back to admire his work – a mirror is swept behind to catch the angles. Â There I am, ready to go … a new creation.
Raffaele looks pleased. Â He tweaks the odd strand here and there.
The ladies and my friend appear again in the background. Â The noises confirm that Raffaele has worked his magic. In the way of Naples he has crafted a masterpiece out of very little … in fact, out of nothing at all.
I stand slowly, shake off the scatterings of hair and do the requested twirl. Â I am as astonished as anyone. Â A twirl? Â Even the next customer, who has arrived, looks pleased.
Payment is settled, embraces exchanged and I, new woman, am good to go.
I skip out the door, most of my hair gone …Â I am transformed. Â I have been changed from mushroom to miracle by a young man with a pair of scissors and a ruler. Â Masterpiece? Â I have been beheld as such, and that is all that matters.
In the Bay of Naples the ships stand ready to do their duty …
My thanks to Raffaele Manco and, of course, to my anonymous friend.
Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2016
I had my hair cut and colored in Naples in November — in a little shop on Via della Sapienza. It was a great experience — and I love the style and the color. There were many salons to choose from, but I went to Emmanuel VERDE because I liked the way the women looked as they came out.
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Now that’s a good way to choose a salon! I suppose, given the number of skilled artisans in Napoli, it should be no surprise to discover great hairdressers in the city.
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Photo please
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I’m not sure Helen of Troy allowed any photos …
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Cute story. I always feel a trip to the hairdresser is a chore for me, so it is great to be happy with the outcome.
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Thanks Lyn – like you say ‘to be happy with the outcome’ is wonderful 🙂
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