1 /5 Ana: Consider This Your Warning: Avoid This Salon!
Walking into this place was like stepping into a hairdressing horror film directed by amateurs who flunked beauty school and still charge like they’re Vidal Sassoon reincarnated.
I didn’t get a haircut. I didn’t get decent colour.
What I did get was four and a half hours of psychological warfare, chemical assault, and the creeping realisation that I’d made the worst decision of my year — possibly my life — by walking into this salon.
I booked in for a colour and cut, told them clearly I had to leave by a certain time. Easy, right? Wrong. What followed was a marathon of incompetence so staggering it could be studied by scientists. These people managed to chew up nearly five hours of my life trying (and failing) to fix their own colour job.
The first attempt? Atrocious. Patchy, brassy, and somehow the exact opposite of what I asked for.
The second attempt? Just as bad — only now it came with burning scalp, unnecessary bleaching, and my hair literally screaming for help.
Along with the wash–colour–wash–tone–panic–argue–repeat cycle, like some deranged shampoo-based version of Groundhog Day.
After all that, guess what? No time left for the cut. In hindsight, thank God — because if the haircut was going to be anything like the colouring trauma I just endured, they might’ve left me looking like I’d lost a bet on Fear Factor.
The hair wash? Oh, you mean the baptism by incompetence? They dumped water down my back like I was a houseplant they forgot to water for three weeks. Left the sink with my neck broken, clothes soaked and coloured, and the back of my head feeling like it’d been waterboarded by Satan himself. (see picture of ruined clothes).
And don’t think the horror ends there. My scalp is cooked, my ends are mush, and my hair is now the texture of crispy ramen noodles. I left looking like I’d barely survived an acid rainstorm. The kindest thing I can say is: at least they didn’t set my head fully on fire. (See picture of end result they think it’s “professional”).
And the owner? Absolutely useless. Arrogant, rude, dismissive — like a customer’s time, hair, and bodily comfort are inconvenient distractions from his own ego. He didn’t apologise, didn’t acknowledge the disaster — just snapped defensively like he was being personally attacked by the concept of accountability.
When I voiced my concerns, he puffed up like an angry pigeon and launched into a rant that could only be described as a masterclass in gaslighting. No accountability, no apology, just pure Karen energy. He literally argued that I must have misunderstood what a “professional result” looks like. If delusion was a hairstyle, he’d be a world-class stylist.
This wasn’t a salon appointment.
This was a chemical hostage situation.
And after all of that? After the fried hair, the wasted day, the ruined clothes, and the sheer audacity of defending the mess they created — he smugly offered a 30% discount like it was some incredible act of generosity.
Spoiler: it’s not.
Even worse, I’ve now seen that this exact same “generous offer” is what shows up in every other one-star review. It’s not customer service — it’s damage control baked into their business model.
Take this as your sign to read the one-star reviews and believe them. They’re not isolated incidents — they’re warnings. If you care about your hair, your clothes, and your sanity, skip this place (RUN). Take your money to a real salon with professionals who don’t leave you looking like you crawled out of a bad makeover challenge. Total regret. Never again!
