Is The French Haircut a Thing? Yes! When I lived in Paris at 19 years old, I had one. It was more than just getting my stringy 19 year old shoulder length hair cut in Paris. My new Paris haircut framed my face, it had layers and had bounce. Voila, my stringy hippy hair of yore was gone. I loved it and tried to find a good coup from time to time but haven’t been so successful.

So when passing a Biguine Salon on Rue de Bac in the neighborhood I was staying in (kinda of a French Dry Bar where you can’t book an appointment)… I decided to walk in. (Apparently they have Biguine Salons in NYC – I had no idea).

For those of you who follow my writing you may know I do speak French. Frankly, it’s a miracle that having a french boyfriend for a few years at the impressionable age of 19, really was the gift that keeps on giving. The boyfriend didn’t stick but the French did. So, although everyone seems to speak English in Paris, it’s fun for me to hang out with the locals and speak the language and I have no trepidation of communicating what I’m looking for. 

“Bonsoir, My hair is making me nuts, I need a fresh look, can someone cut it?”

“Absoluement – pas de probleme.” — You get the gist.

There I was seated in a gorgeous salon, brightly lit, feeling lucky to be seated in the chair closest to the street window assuming this must be the senior stylist’s chair as she had position Number One.

I was all a flutter, listening to the musical chirping of french and giving myself over to the experience. 

“How long have you worked here? You sure have the best Chair in the salon.”

“Eh bah, une mois.”

“Une mois? One month. Wow. You sure lucked out with this chair.”

“Oui – it’s fantastic.”

My heart began to sink — what have I done? This isn’t Vidal Sasson or Jean Louis David’s Salon, this is a French Dry Bar – what did I expect!

“Do you have any wine here?”

“Of course cherie.”

I relaxed into my chaise and gave myself over to chatting in french, sipping a nice dry white and watching as my scissor happy coiffeur snipped away layer after layer. And it felt exhilarating, un peu risky and fun.

“Why be nervous — it will grown back,” was my brain’s refrain.

I reflected on the Bad Hilarious haircut scene from Flea Bag as I sipped and she snipped.

And voila she said.

And voila I thought — that’s a cute French very buoyant hair cut. Truly, she had shaped my hair to my long face with layers and created a lift that turned up the corners on my mouth into a full smile.

“Mercie – J’adore le coup. C’est parfait.” And, I hugged my new coiffure, took her card and I am hoping to see her on my next trip which better be before next year.

So what do real French Haircuts look like? Check these out.

The French Haircut Is A Thing And I Got One: Paris Part 3 was last modified: by

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