my chosen career, you know and I wasn’t
thinking I’ve got to get to the top. I didn’t
even know that existed in those days.
What did your friends think of you leaving
school and going in to a barber’s shop?
Well, I made new friends in Ilford. Around
the corner from my dad’s shop was a
shoe repairer I became very good friends
with - a guy called Eddie - and he was
deaf and dumb and he introduced me
to a load of his mates and I actually met
a girl in that circle who was deaf and
dumb and I went out with her for about
a year, so, you know, I had to learn sign
language and all of that. We never had an
argument. Such a bad joke, isn’t it?
It has been said that I’m not an
argumentative person, because my
recent wife – I’ve known her for eight
years and we’ve been married three –
well, we’ve not had one argument in all
that time. I hate confrontation.
So did you ever get any grief for your
chosen career path? When did you
decide to go into hairdressing?
I worked with my dad for five years and
you’ve probably heard the scenario that
working with your family sometimes is not
the best thing. I saw bits of my dad that I
didn’t really care for. He liked women and
I hated that about him because of my
mum. Anyway, after five years I decided
that I was going to quit barbering. I’d
just had enough. I wasn’t stimulated
or excited – it was just a bunch of men
wanting a short back and sides - so it
didn’t do any good for me creatively. I
decided to apply for a job as a sales rep
for Gillette razor blades and the only
reason I wanted that job was because
you got a car with the job.
Needless to say, I didn’t get the job and
I didn’t get the car, so it was at that point
that I went back to my parents and said:
“Look, I’ll stick at hairdressing but I want
to learn ladies’ hairdressing”. So they
sent me to a college in Baker Street,
London, called the Richard Henry School
of Hairdressing and I did a six-month
course and on the last day the principal,
a guy called Martin Gottlieb, said: “Trevor,
I see something a bit special in you”. I
didn’t know what he was really talking
about. You don’t see yourself as any
different to anyone else. And he said: “I
think you should go to a really good salon
like Vidal Sassoon”.
Which I did and I only stayed there a
month because I was living in Harlow and
it was two hours to get to work and two
hours back. I wasn’t being paid – they
were just training me – and to be honest
it was all these geometric haircuts and
I just felt like I was a woman’s barber.
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I wanted to put hair up, do feminine
hairstyles. Vidal Sassoon was all very
harsh and geometric. So I left there and
I went to the suburbs and that’s where I
really learnt hairdressing. I worked in a
shop in Loughton, Essex, called Henri, or
Henry, if you like. We had to say: “Henri,
can I ‘elp you?”! I did that for about a
year and then decided that I wanted to
go back to Sassoon so I went back to
them and said: “Can I have another go at
working?” and they said okay. I took my
final test and within 18 months became
an artistic director for the company and
that was the start of something more
career-driven.
I can stand on a
stage in front of
5,000 people and I’m
totally comfortable but
when I meet people
one on one I grow
really nervous
Did you work with Vidal, did he teach you?
No, he was at the very end of his cutting
career but I did some shows with him but
there are certain things you say to yourself
like: “I could never do that”. I could never
jump out of an aeroplane even if I had ten
parachutes. I just couldn’t do it. And I will
never do a bungee jump – I’m so scared
of heights. But, having said that, there are
times when you think: “Hmmm, I reckon I
could do that”. When I was at Sassoon’s
I never used to sit in the staff room and
bitch about the company. I’d just stand on
the floor and just watch because at that
time great hairdressers were working and
I used to think: “I reckon I could do that”. If
I worked hard and got focused, I reckoned
I could get close to these top guys and
that was an inspiration for me. I inspired
myself I think, because I thought: “That’s a
reachable goal, not an impossible dream”
and that was how I saw it.
You mentioned there was bitching . . .
When you work for a company, everyone
has some negative stuff to talk about. You
know, they’re not paying me enough or
this or that. Even in this company I’m sure
behind closed doors there’s someone
having a go at me or the company. But,
when you employ 120 people, you’re
actually employing 120 problems,
because their problems become your
problems, so – dealing with staff is the
hardest part really, or keeping them happy.
But having said that, I keep my staff. The
longest-serving member of staff has been
with the company 20 years and I’ve had
my art director for 16 years.
Assistants turn over because they can’t
hack it but when I get a good stylist,
they stay and in this business that’s rare
because everyone thinks the grass is
greener and invariably they find it’s not
and some of them say: “I’d like to come
back”. I say: “No, you made your choice.
I don’t take people back. So if you
wanna leave you’d better be sure you
wanna leave” - only under exceptional
circumstances if there’s an illness or
something like that but if people think
they can come and go that’s exactly
what they’ll do and I just need to make
a firm rule. It’s a discipline. I’m not
very good at it myself but I think in my
professional life I am and that’s the one
thing that Vidal taught me and it’s the
best thing I ever learnt.
So were you close to Vidal?
He was living in America for the most part.
He was famous in America for his fitness
videos. He digressed from hairdressing
into fitness and health. But having said
that - and this will mean very little to
anyone that I say it to but it meant a lot
to me - there was a documentary made
about his life last year and there was a
private premiere in the Mayfair Hotel. It
had a 200-seat cinema and he had this
book-signing and lots of VIPs and famous
people there and I was sitting with one of
my stylists watching the film. I saw Vidal
come in at the exit or entrance and he
was looking all round to see where he
could sit and he spotted me and came
up the stairs and sat next to me and said:
“Alright, Trev?”. And there he was, my
hero! I can’t believe he’s sitting next to me.
It’s hard to explain when you have a real
hero; someone that you want to aspire to
be . . . if I could be half the man that he
was. Here is an example. He came into
my shop a few years ago and went round
everybody – the receptionist, cleaners, all
the assistants – and introduced himself
to everyone. He went up to clients and
said: “Good morning, I’d like to tell you that
you’re in the best hairdressing salon in
London apart from mine of course”. He’s
just such a gentleman.
I wish I could just naturally be like that.
I can walk around here and go: “Hi, I’m
Trevor Sorbie”, but it was so natural
for him. I’d be embarrassed to do that
because I’m quite a shy person actually.
Funnily enough, I can stand on a stage
in front of 5,000 people and I’m totally
comfortable but when I meet people one
on one I grow really nervous. You’d think
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