This story doesn’t begin with me at all. It really begins with David Bowie. Actually, it begins with David’s mom.
The year was 1971, when I was still in pampers, and one Margaret Mary Jones had a standing appointment at Evelyn Paget salon in Beckenham, North West London, every Thursday at a quarter to five for a wash and set.
Her stylist was a tall, ambitious, twenty year old blonde named Suzi Fussey who had just come back from a year in America and was up on all the latest trends.
Mrs. Jones thought her American daughter-in-law, Angie, would appreciate Suzi’s modern views on hair styling. Angie had just given birth and wanted a new look now that her figure had returned. So Mrs. Jones brought Angie into the salon.
Suzi bleached Angie’s hair white and put three stripes in it —red, white and blue—and Angie left, delighted. She was that kind of girl, and Suzi was that kind of stylist.
Angie returned before Christmas for a perm. Fortunately (from my point of view), she failed to make an appointment and the salon couldn’t accommodate her, Christmas week being the salon’s busiest of the year.
But Suzi was not one to let an opportunity pass. She did a lot of men’s hair at that time and knew if she could get to Angie, she’d have a good shot at landing David Bowie as a client. David had already scored a hit with Space Oddity but had yet to follow up with anything else. Maybe if he had a new look, Suzi thought, it would improve his image.
Suzi ran out of the salon after Angie and offered to give her a perm as a private client. “I’ll come to you,” Suzi offered.
And as luck would have it, Angie accepted.