Lindsay Lohan and the Laundry

OK, so I’m only sharing this because I think it’s illustrative of how randomly New York works. One minute you’re washing your backlog of shirts and scrundies, the next Lindsay Lohan’s stylist is snipping your hair. You’re really going to have to bear with me on this.

So in New York, it’s unusual for apartments to have washing machines. In my condo, there is a studenty-style laundry room, which is bad enough. Pity the poor Manhattanites living in walk-up apartments – they often have to trundle off to the laundromat, in the blazing sun or freezing snow. Anyway, the other week I was busy doing several cartloads of laundry when I got chatting to a random guy who wanted to borrow my laundry payment card. And that’s where the story begins.

He seemed like a sound bloke, so we exchanged details and kept in touch. Turned out his girlfriend was the manager of the uber-trendy Downtown hair salon, Sally Hershberger. I needed my mop chopped in any case, not having had it cut since I left London. So on his recommendation, I thought I’d give it a whirl. Talk about hard to find. It’s in the heart of the Meatpacking District, but I had to bother some trendy Hugo Boss shop assistant on his cigarette break to actually track it down. There is no sign outside – and you have to push a buzzer to be let in.

So the stylist I was recommended (who gave me a surprisingly good, if expensive, haircut) explained how the salon was, in fact, a celebrity favourite (later online research revealed that Hershberger bills herself as ‘stylist to the stars’ – at $600 a snip). The chap who cut my hair turned out to have celeb clients including Jon Bon Jovi, Rob Lowe and the aforementioned troubled soul, St. Lindsay Lohan.

My previous brushes with fame so far remain limited to being closely connected with several Big Brother winners or meeting the Pope’s press secretary. Little did I know that Lindsay and I would be one step closer in the Six Degrees of Separation after my random evening doing the washing. Not only that, a guy I met at a church social the other night has Donald Trump on speed dial. And one of my flatmates recently worked with Duran Duran on one of their tours. NYC, I’ve discovered, really is the city of weak ties.

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