Raphael's replaces haircut horrors with cool, confident coiffures

by Lauren Gross
For The Post

For years and years hairdressers would compliment me telling me I had great hair. They fawned over the thickness, curliness and color. “She’ll never go bald,” they said. Funny, they said that about my dad, and now his head is the first thing to burn in the sun.

Because my hair has been a stylist’s dream, you would think they would take better care of it. I have been the key victim in the haircut horror series. From the mop look to the uneven layered appeal and, dare I say, that mullet of fifth grade, I have had my share of bad hair.

In coming to Athens, I feared getting my hair cut. I dreaded it so much that I gave in to inch-length split ends and frizz galore, just to avoid facing the agony of another bad haircut. But then I saw the (high) light at the end of the tunnel, and was ready to face the challenge.

A friend of mine had this really amazing haircut. The “duck butt” is what we call it. I took pictures of her head so I could show what I wanted to whomever I braved to cut it. And then it happened. Not only did my friend let me document her style, but she also shared her secret hairdresser formula with me. “Go to Debbie at Raphael’s,” she said, “She’s great.”

And so I did. My stomach flip-flopped as I anxiously sat waiting. I had brought my support group. One was taking pictures and the other was taking notes for future reference. And then my name was called and I was taken to the sink.

At the time of the first “duck butt,” my hair was clear past my shoulders. It had taken nearly two years to grow out the last disastrous cut, and here I was willing to risk it all for something with the word “butt” in it. I nervously watched inches upon inches of curls hit the floor.

When the drama was finished, I feared looking in the mirror. I never have instantaneously liked a haircut, and though Debbie came highly recommended, I still was nervous and was getting ready for the tears. But no tears were shed that day; I finally had found a haircut and a hairdresser that I loved. Three cheers for Debbie.

That was four haircuts ago. I now stick with Debbie and Debbie alone. She is in no way a hairdresser, but more of a hair artist. I have no fear or worries from the moment I walk into Raphael’s. I have come to Athens during breaks just to get my hair cut, and if she’s away, I refuse to see anyone else. Though I’ve never had my roots done, brows waxed, nose hairs clipped or whatever else the salon offers, I found my haircutting safety zone.

Debbie is the only hair “artist” I have known that can catch you up on the past year of ER while maintaining an even cut. When the scissors start snipping like shrubbery pruners I fear not, for I know it’s all good in the end. She’s the first to shampoo my hair without scalding the skin off my scalp. Debbie is a rad lady with interesting stories, an abundance of pop culture knowledge and a trustworthy technique.

My last cut was on Friday. I had my duck feathers shaped back into the safety of the spiky butt. I fear for the future of my hair once I graduate and leave Athens for good. I know Debbie won’t always be there to fix and trim the wounds given by other hairdressers, but for now safety and sanity are my main concerns, and I have found them at Raphael’s.