house of lords

Last week I went to my usual hair salon, the unusual, unfailingly manic House of Lords on downtown Yonge Street.

The music pulsates at high volume, the balloons drift in columns outside and in. The walls are covered with framed pictures of 70's longhairs and a sense of self-importance and self-congratulation fills the air.

Everyone is very hip and very happening.

I am getting my hair washed, next to another woman who is getting her hair washed. We lie with our faces up in this vulnerable, rather helpless position.

She begins a conversation with her male hair stylist, asking him about his recent weight loss.

"Oh, yes," he says. "I lost a lot of weight. I went from a size 10 to a size 6. I cannot find any evening gowns that fit now."

My male stylist, who has been mixing colour, returns and joins in the conversation.

"You can have mine," he offers. "I have a whole closet full. I know they'll fit you."

"Thanks, that would be wonderful. I can't find heels either."

"What size do you take?"

"Size 11."

"I have some that will fit you."

As I listen to this conversation, it does occur to me that women have many more socially acceptable fashion choices than men do. I think these men have more dresses than I do. I'm not sure I have an evening gown. These men are dressed in typical male attire now. Women have the social freedom to wear dresses, evening gowns, and slacks.

Still, I'm not ready for the images in my head . . .

. . . later, a young blonde man with carefully casual spikes walks back to the sinks with his hair stylist.

"So, why are you performing at a breast cancer benefit?" his stylist asks, perplexed.

"Because," says the spiked blonde, with a callous, casual pause, "it's the thing to do now."