I wasn’t looking for Plocacosmos specifically, I’d just seen it referenced in the back of other books. One reference led to another and eventually I got hold of it at the British Library. They gave me a special pillow for it and explained how to turn the fragile pages and hold them open with a pair of book thongs, I was scared to turn each page. Each letter of typeface was indented into the page, the long S’s that read as F’s wreaked havoc with my dyslexia. I had to slow down to the point I could hardly understand it. Re-reading every sentence I knew there was no way I’d get through all 500 pages. But that was no longer the point. I just wanted to be there with this thing.
The BL had just moved to its new location in King’s Cross, the staff were considerably less helpful than at the National Art Library. They were very particular about who they wanted registering for one of their library cards, and it seemed hairdressers didn’t fit the bill. Even telling them I’d been the school librarian didn’t shift their attitude.
With Plocacosmos in my hands I felt like a time traveller. The magnitude of the career I’d landed myself in started to dawn on me. People have been taking this way more seriously for way longer than I’d appreciated. Writing huge books about it centuries ago people had considered hairdressing worth recording in detail and passing on. How long has this been going on I wondered. It still amazes me now when I think about it, but then it was a revelation. Hair, the first 5,000 years. I remember finding that title in the long skinny drawers of the index card cabinets. Little did I know that a few years later my good friend Suisse Marocain would give me a copy of my own from the arcane Bibliothèque Igor Balut.
I had begun my first apprenticeship at Toni & Guy in Guildford where I met Gareth Van Cuylenburg. Tim, the salon owner had told me about session work as a potential career path at the interview, I was smitten.
Gareth had recently moved to the UK from Australia. Living in London, Gareth commuted to Guildford three or four days a week, the rest of the time he did session work and whenever we okayed it with Tim, I’d skip the salon to go and assist.
Gareth told me about the Victoria & Albert museum, I explored it extensively. One day I reciprocated his tip-off by telling him I’d discovered the National Art Library was within. The library was free but the museum was not, so I joined as a friend. This was before national museums were free to the public. I kept my membership even when it became free. The friends room was smaller than an office but bigger than a cupboard. It wasn’t clear exactly where it ended and the other offices began. There was an honesty fishbowl full of small change and a drip jug of filter coffee constantly simmering on its hotplate. Thin plastic cups offered no insulation. You had to hold your coffee by the rim smoking was permitted only by the window. Each time they upgrade the members lounge my memory of that room gets more and more nostalgic.
I spent a lot of time at the V&A. It became a sanctuary for me. During the pollinated summers I’d seek respite in the dense cool humidity of the tapestry gallery among the unicorns and hunt scenes.
In the National Art Library I’d ask librarians for books on hair. They seemed slightly surprised by my requests and my presence there, like they were wondering how I found out about the NAL. I guess I didn’t look or behave like your standard library bookworm, none-the-less they were very helpful.
These experiences really changed how I viewed hairdressing, it gave me a sense that this was a real job, a valid career choice, with a heritage which I myself was stepping into.
If you need a companion to brave the wardens of The British Library, get in touch and we can get you a readers pass. They’re much less exclusive these days. It’s also a lot easier to read it on archive.org.