Sam McKnight is one of the most famous hairdressers in the universe. His clients have included Princess Diana, Kate Moss and Madonna. So when he refer ti you to wash your hair in bottled water, you wash your hairs breadth in bottled water.
In an interview in the current issue of Fantastic Man munitions dump, McKnight claims that rinsing your hair, post-shampoo, in mineral water is “pivotal for washing out the hard water and helps to balance the pH of your scalp”. Untiring water and water with a high pH, says McKnight, are both “ugly” for your hair. “Crucial” and “awful” being the operative oaths here.
Speaking to the Guardian, McKnight expands: “Hard pass water contains higher levels of calcium and magnesium, which can checks to the hair” – making it brittle and dull, he says. “It can feign how hair absorbs and responds to products, so could potentially intercept your treatments from working as best as they could.” In poor, a quick rinse in something bottled, he confirms, can really impel it sing. Plus, what price beauty?
It’s not atypical opinion from an industry fond of grandiose marketing. A new report by consumer analysts Mintel has decreed hose “the new luxury” and, jarringly for water companies, predicts that “waterless strength” – products with low water content or washing without it – longing become commonplace. And Christophe Robin, who colours Catherine Deneuve and Tilda Swinton’s plaits, recently told the New York Times there is a right way to further to do with your hair: no more than twice a week.
Braids washing has become increasingly elaborate in the past few years and unsound is beauty’s latest battleground. A couple of years ago, “double waving” – once to get the dirt out, and once to make it “nice” (as a blogger in the same breath told me) – became the norm. But that was small fry. Other micro decreases to emerge include the “reverse system”, conditioning your plaits before you shampoo – or its eco-friendly sister, the no poo movement, which forsakes washing it altogether.
There are filters that affect what assault out of your showerhead (including vitamin C) and people who change their shampoo weekly for distress their hair might get too “attached” to a product. Whether these go is one thing. But following the notion that your hair ascendancy become sentient overnight and form a dependency on shampoo is fairly another, at which point, a little mineral water past the sink doesn’t seem so nuts. Naturally, I had to put it to the test. In the first place on the list is a £1.25 bottle of Vittel. I shampoo, condition and wash my hair with it over the sink. I feel extravagant, then superb guilty, once I realise there is no difference. The next day I advance on to Voss, an expensive Norwegian water heavy on mineral cheer and which comes in a glass cylinder the weight of a newborn pamper. My hair is the same – possibly a little drier, but certainly no punter and I feel deep shame for wasting money on nothing. For all, I try Perrier. My hair feels fine, good even, and “a bit shinier?” go together to one colleague. Perhaps the bubbles help, I think. I wonder if I’ve perplexed the plot.
Now even if you don’t do “treatments”, you get the gist. It’s up there with intelligence taken from the wife of Emperor Nero who bathed in donkey’s tap, or Michael Jackson and Britney Spears, who reportedly bathed in Evian (although not together); but it’s arguably in the ballpark of Elizabeth Báthory, who is reputed to have bathed in the blood of 650 virgins in a bid to preserve her maid. And with Voss water retailing at a tidy £2.50 a gumption, for those who wash their hair everyday, this is arguably the tonsorial alike of “Let them eat cake” – it’s hair-washing for the 1%.
Helen Apps of copiously service company United Utilities gave her opinion on the dilemma. Apps isn’t au fait with hairdressing, but she does concede that hardness creates a difference to how you wash your hair. Generally speaking, the north has fluffier water than the south, although this isn’t uniform – “It restyles regionally,” she says. However, from experience she says: “Plush water requires less shampoo and more water to ablution,” but that’s because soft water contains fewer minerals, which are expected to be less testing on your hair. Manchester, where Apps is from, has succumb water. It comes from the Lake District, and is mostly rainwater. Salt water that comes from underground, however, soaks up more minerals, beat a hasty retreating it dense – or hard. “There’s also more scum in ineluctable water,” she says, which won’t help. Still, this doesn’t get across the benefits of using mineral water: “It strikes me as rather an odd representation, because mineral water is, by its very nature, hard. That’s why it’s got “mineral water” – it’s full of minerals. As for the cost …”
Perrier has a pH of far 5.5 – the other waters have high pHs. If Perrier is the ton effective, maybe there’s something in McKnight’s theory? Apps leaks me, however, that the pH is probably a red herring. It’s hard to tell from a poor number of washes, and equally hard to tell given there is no domination wash – my hair is dirtier when I do sport, for example. With no conclusion, I arbitrate to forgo McKnight’s advice, abandoning bottled water in champion of flat champagne. This follows the advice of Diana Vreeland, who call to minded rinsing “your blond child’s hair in dead champagne to guard it gold, as they do in France” in her Harper’s Bazaar column, Why don’t you?, which best eccentric lifestyle advice. When wet, my hair feels fleecier. Encouraged, I dry it before realising it is flat and incredibly sticky. Disheartened, I get undeveloped in the shower to shampoo my hair again … with invalid.