B004HD61JU EBOK

by Coffey, Tabatha

  “Absolutely” was my instant reply because I was following my gut. And Tabatha’s Salon Takeover was born.

  Doing the show has been a phenomenal experience, and although I am teaching many of my hairdressing and business-owning colleagues valuable lessons that I have learned along the way—most especially, to listen to their gut—it doesn’t mean that I am not still learning lessons of my own. The last story I’ll share about surviving on your gut instinct is a doozy and it occurred in New Jersey, right on my home turf. I had just completed Season Two of my show and I was in Australia conducting press interviews for the Season One launch there when my mother was rushed to the hospital in the United States. She’d had a heart attack at the start of filming that season and the doctors were planning to give her a pacemaker. I was a mess, to say the least, and between the show, my travel schedule, and Mum’s health, I had not been spending a lot of time in the salon. Neither was my salon manager, who is also my partner. And while we were out of the salon, some of my staff decided to have a go at my computer and, unbeknownst to me, take client information for their own purposes. Soon after, on a busy Saturday, one by one my staff approached me and told me they were quitting, that it was their last day, and that they were going to work at a nearby salon. Not only was I genuinely surprised, but I was hurt, too. Most salon owners will experience a walkout at some point and I am the first one to say, “It’s business. It’s not personal.” But the fact is, having four key staff members walk out on one day, including my lead stylist, who’d been with me for fourteen years and who I trained and taught everything he knew, was . . . well, personal. It hurt not only my business, but my feelings. I had a good long cry and spent the night wringing my hands about what to do. But the next morning, tired and dehydrated from the loss of tears, I reminded myself that it is business and that the business must go on. The problem was, I had a salon with no key staff members. So I had only one choice if I wanted to keep my doors open. I started working eighteen hours a day, seven days a week. The only reason a client couldn’t get in was because they literally couldn’t get in—every chair was full and every time slot taken. And I was servicing almost every chair. My feet were swollen and my hands had calluses. I was supposed to be at the top of my game and here I was back in the scrim. But I was resilient and that was important because my remaining staff was understandably nervous and looking to me for leadership. They saw their team and a lot of revenue walk out of the salon. They were concerned for their jobs. And my clients were shocked and wanted answers, too. I was honest, kept my head up, and most important, I took the high road. Believe me, I had moments where I wanted to lose my mind at their unprofessional behavior. But I followed my own three-second rule and my gut, which told me I would eventually be better off. Some of my former staff decided it was okay to say negative things about me to clients and colleagues. Some of them even wrote my longtime personal clients letters trying to recruit them. But throughout the experience, I was gracious, and eventually, I did manage to rebuild my entire team with fantastic stylists who kick ass behind the chair and want to build a great salon together with me. The fact is, unlike many business owners I have encountered, I don’t view staff as disposable. I view them as invaluable. Make no mistake, if you suck, I will fire you. But if you work hard, do good work, have a great attitude, and want to be the best, you will be on my team forever. I will go to bat for you and I expect nothing less than that in return. Having those team members walk out was painful, but once again it reminded me that my moral compass is strong . . . and that I will survive.

  Gut Check

  • Question yourself. When you aren’t sure which way to go, ask yourself a series of questions.

  • What feels right? You have a moral compass. It may not be the same as mine, but if you live by it, you’ll know if you are making the right decision.

  • Can I go to sleep tonight? Sounds trite until you encounter a truly sleepless night, tossing and turning because you’re afraid you did the wrong thing. We’ve all had them, and answering yes to this question can help you sleep like a baby.

  • What happens next? Sometimes we make a decision in the moment without thinking about the consequences. But the consequences always come (see my three-second rule). If you can’t live with the consequences, it’s probably not the right decision.

  • Once you’ve answered all these questions, you need to listen to yourself because you know what’s the best course of action. Following your gut can spare you agita, so why not try it?!

  Chapter 11

  “Shut the Fuck Up” and Other Things That Are Okay to Say

  I FIND IT REALLY bloody annoying when people say they’re scared of me. Scary is the guy in the hockey mask who jumps out of the woods with an ax and hacks the young lovers to death in their car on a dark night. I’m not scary. I’m just honest—and brave, I suppose, when I’m being honest in certain situations where most others wouldn’t be. Telling people what you think isn’t a bad thing; in fact, it has served me well.

  TV didn’t make me honest. I’ve always said what I thought, even when people haven’t liked it. That’s why everything I’ve ever agreed to do on television has always allowed me to be me. I’ve never been told to react in a way I wouldn’t normally react or say things I wouldn’t normally say. How people see me on my show is how I am in real life. Then again, my salon staff and the trainees from my Joico days would probably tell you I’m a little bit nicer on the small screen. I wouldn’t disagree. Age and experience have taught me that it sometimes pays to get my point across with a measure of diplomacy.

  When the Bravo execs offered me my own show, I have to admit I was surprised. I didn’t see it coming, but I was excited to brainstorm ideas with the production company that had produced Shear Genius. Obviously, my honesty on that show had paid off, and presented with the opportunity to star in my own series, I wanted to do something that would really reflect who I am and what I am about when it comes to hairdressing. I have a lot of respect for my industry and for the integrity of the people in it, and I wanted to tackle the challenges that real-life hairdressers face instead of coming up with silly TV challenges like trim this girl’s head into a topiary with these garden shears. So we came up with the idea to take over failing salons guerrilla style and “boot-camp” them into shape.

  I’m well aware that some people refer to me as “the Gordon Ramsay of hairdressing,” but any similarities to the fiery, foulmouthed British chef are coincidental. I am who I am and I am not trying to act like Gordon or anyone else, on TV or off. Certainly, we’re both really passionate about what we do, we’re both direct and sometimes politically incorrect, we have “funny” accents, and we both say “fuck,” but this hardly makes us the same. I understand the comparison and am flattered, given how amazing Gordon is at what he does. But I couldn’t be him any more than he could be me, so the comparison stops at the superficial. I just wanted to be myself and help struggling salons turn themselves around.

  On my show, viewers have been able to see different sides of me, one of which is being a bitch when I need to be. Taking over failing salons and trying to turn them around in only a week is obviously part of a format that was made to work for TV and it requires me to work quickly. But I am not a fake or a poser and I wouldn’t do the show if I didn’t think I could actually change these businesses for the better. I try very hard to impact everyone who participates, for better or worse—which means that the show is a weeklong boot camp during which I dispense some tough love. It might not be much fun for the owners and staff when they are going through it, but most of them realize how different they are when it is all over—whether that’s six weeks later or six months later. And I’ve been incredibly humbled by their gratitude, as well as by the amazing support from viewers.

  “Thank you for your honesty. You made me look at myself.”

  “Thank you for telling it like it is, because you’ve given me the courage to tell certain people what I really needed to say . . .” />
  One of my primary objectives has been to make the members of the hairdressing community feel proud of ourselves. So I’ve been particularly gratified when stylists and salon owners express their appreciation for the way the show portrays the industry as more than just picking up a pair of scissors and snip, snip, snip. At the same time, they are also grateful that I’m pointing out how we need to step up our game in the face of complacency and that I’m providing them with tips to improve their craft and their business. They see that I care, and their support has actually made me feel more responsible to the industry than ever before.

  But the most unsettling responses have come from the people who write to me or walk up to me on the street and say, “Because of you I have started beauty school.” Or, “Because of your show, I opened my own salon.” I feel a huge responsibility to those people, so let me be as honest as I can be and clear it all up right now. To the people who announce these major life decisions to me and are serious about making the enormous investment of time and talent, good on you, but to those who say it like it is folly, I want to reply, “Shut the fuck up and listen.”

  It’s still a TV show, and it still looks easier to cut hair and run a business on TV than it actually is in real life. Being a hairdresser and owning a salon isn’t for everyone. That’s right, you heard it straight from me. Hold on a second before you run out and sign that student loan for hairdressing school or cash in that savings account to build a salon space. Borrowing money to pay for tuition or investing your entire nest egg to start a business is a huge commitment, and you can’t make that commitment lightly. So let me ask you a few questions to help you test your resolve.

  Are you prepared to stand on your feet, usually on a hard floor in six-inch heels, for sixteen hours a day, listening to a client whinge about what happened to her last night while you figure out how to fix the fried and broken ends that some other hairdresser jacked up? Because that is your day more often than not.

  Can you afford to spend $20,000 to $40,000 on hairdressing school only to earn minimum wage in an apprenticeship program that requires long hours of grunt work with no thank-yous before you can so much as touch a client? Because that is the career trajectory for most young graduates.

  Will you be able to keep the doors of your new salon open for a year or more at a loss every week, not taking home a penny for your hours toiling behind the chair because it is all going back into the business to pay your staff on time and stock your back bar? Because that is the state of the salon business most of the time.

  Sometimes I wish I had gotten to the owners and staff on the show sooner so I could have asked them these questions and saved them a whole lot of grief.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love being a hairdresser and a salon owner. And I love the profession. And if you truly love it, too, you should go for it. But—and this is one of those big-assed buts—you need to understand the commitment you are making or you won’t last, and that just makes you a quitter. I hate quitters.

  Keep in mind, if you do decide to go to beauty school, there is a wide range of quality out there. You can take out a loan, often from a company associated with the school, to attend a beauty college, which may or may not be accredited, and they will essentially teach you only what you need to know in order to pass the state board exam because that’s all they need to do. You aren’t going to get a lot more from those places. Now if that’s what you are looking for, Becky’s may be right for you. But if you want to play with the big boys, you are going to have to go to a serious academy, like Toni & Guy or Sassoon or Paul Mitchell. And there are countless other good ones—I don’t mean to leave them out. But then you are talking about more money, traveling in order to attend classes, and committing to apprenticing after you graduate. You are in for the long haul. And even then, it doesn’t mean you are going to wind up being, or even working for, the likes of Anthony Mascolo or Vidal or John Paul Mitchell. It takes a lifetime of education and striving for excellence to get to that place. If you are committed to that, go for it. Take out the loan and buy your brushes and blow-dryer now.

  But if you are not . . . if cutting hair just looks like it would be more fun than the dead-end desk job you have now or if you’ve always wanted to open a small business and salons look easy to run, then please FUCK OFF!

  As you all know by now, I tell it like I see it. I am an honest bitch. And I really wanted to get that off my chest before I felt even remotely responsible for turning the whole world into beauty students instead of firefighters or doctors. Now that that’s settled . . .

  I take my job very seriously. When I walk in to take over a salon and I see the kinds of things that are going on, I’m genuinely amazed at the shit some people think is okay to do. I mean dildos in a station drawer? Roaches in the phone? Cameras spying on staff? At the same time, I’m equally gobsmacked that, while the business has been going down the toilet, the boss hasn’t had the balls to stand up and tell the staff what needs to change or hasn’t opened his or her eyes to see just how big a mess the salon really is. I’m emotionally committed to every assignment that comes my way, even if that emotion is expressed as frustration and anger. I get angry because I care about saving these places and making them better.

  While incompetence and lousy attitudes are common factors in the business fuckups I’m asked to sort out, I’m always stunned by people’s acceptance of mediocrity. To them, good enough is okay. When they don’t give a shit about their job, it tells me they also don’t give a shit about themselves, and that annoys me. It’s even worse when they try to take the piss out of me or appease me. I am trying to help them and I don’t need smoke blown up my ass in an effort to avoid change. Sometimes those people are better left for dead at the side of the proverbial hairdressing highway.

  I have suggested to owners that I would fire some of their stylists because of certain things they have done or not done. But ultimately, anyone who has been fired has been fired by the owner of the salon. And this is a major moment of transformation because it means the owner and the staff are invested in what I am trying to accomplish—which is showing them what is wrong and why they need to change. Sure, the people who don’t pull their weight know I won’t be around forever. But because I’m in their face pointing out what they’re doing wrong—whether this relates to their work or their attitude—it’s really hard for them to ignore me. Let’s face it, I don’t pull any punches, and more than one person on the show has been really fucking mad about that. But frequently, those are the people who have never had anyone point out where they’re screwing up. Or, if it has been pointed out to them, they don’t know how to fix it. So oftentimes it is the most difficult stylist or the assistant with the worst habits who will change the most. And that is very satisfying.

  Okay, so I’m tough and I tell people the truth even when they don’t want to hear it. But the flip side is that I praise them and acknowledge when they do something right. I have no trouble paying someone a compliment—even someone I don’t care for. And when I give it, they know it’s sincere. I’m not the kind of person who holds people’s hands, tells them she loves them, and pats them on the head for turning up on time because I’m just trying to be nice and avoid conflict. Fuck that. If all I did was bullshit, no one would believe a word I say. When I tell those around me they’ve done a good job, they can take it to the bank, and the people I work with all know that I won’t blow smoke up their asses either.

  On the other hand, if my girlfriend has put on thirty pounds and asks me, “Do I look fat?” I’m not going to say, “Yeah, you do.” I don’t want to hurt her feelings, and I never use my honesty to intentionally hurt anyone’s feelings. But if we were going to an important event and while we were getting dressed she asked me if a pair of pants made her look fat and they did, I’d tell her. Because I love her and I want to be honest with her to help her. Now, I’m not saying it would be one of our fonder moments or that I am going to get a big hug and kiss for telling her to change her clothe
s. But sometimes, you have to take your lumps for being honest because it’s more important to help the other person than to avoid conflict. That’s how I conduct my personal life and my professional life.

  Brutal honesty doesn’t have to be mean and that’s why it is important to know how to unleash your inner bitch without being an asshole. Remember: bravery, intelligence, tenacity, creativity, honesty. You need to be brave enough to stand up and say, “I don’t like the work you’re doing,” or “Perhaps it’s time for you to get another job.” And you can’t be too scared or embarrassed to assert yourself in this way because honesty is part of unleashing your inner bitch—you have to be honest with yourself as well as with everyone else, and you have to be honest about each and every situation. But being honest isn’t the same as being mean and mean is not in my definition of “bitch.” If someone says, “I don’t like you because I think you’re a bitch,” I can understand that. But if someone says, “I don’t like you because you’re fat,” what am I supposed to say? “Oh, gee. Thanks for letting me know I’m fat!”

  I came up with the BITCH acronym after viewers resorted to such a “mean honesty” in their assessments of me on Shear Genius. I’d been brave enough to take on the challenge of competing against other hairdressers on TV. And I’d been honest enough to be exactly who I was while I tenaciously tried to be my best and win. But these qualities can backfire sometimes when they scare people. So I suppose I am scary after all because I am one big-assed, loudmouthed bitch. And I’m proud of it. And I hope you will be proud to be a bitch, too.

  How to Tell Someone to “Shut the Fuck Up”