When one has an out-of-body experience with a master it produces a lasting effect. I had one such moment with an artist here in Florence. His name – Fabio Velotti – a seriously perfect name wouldn’t you agree? I booked an appointment as my hair was in need of a little TLC. I actually love my hair when I’m in Europe. Contrary to the dry climate of Calgary, the limited wave I fabricate for myself back home is forced with more products and hand-held devices than Vidal Sassoon owns himself.  What can be best described as a swish instead of an actual wave or curl, is sparse and tends to look a little like I forgot to comb my hair in the morning.

A RECENT PICTURE OF ME: when I force my hair to go curly and forget to wax my upper lip.

In the dewy air that surrounds the hills of Tuscany my tresses behave with a gentle flow and manageable frizz. I need only scrunch the ends with a splash of water and I’m set for the day.

WHAT? You doubt I look like this in the morning...

ME, LAST MONTH IN TUSCANY:  It’s true, I look just like this in the morning. Minus the flawless skin, full makeup, seductive clothing and gorgeous face. The split ends and pillow are exactly the same.

With the aim of releasing an inch or two, I book an appointment with Donatella’s hairdresser. Fabio Velotti owner of Rasoi Hair Jazz.

My beautiful friend Donatella (you know the stunning Italian one) has arguably the loveliest hair I’ve ever seen. She wakes each morning and it looks like she’s just had it styled. I understand that’s “her” hair, however, who best to go to for hair advice than a woman who understands the benefits of a Jazzy haircut. She has nothing but praise for Fabio, says he has Jazz Hands. I have no idea what Jazz Hands are, however after reading his profile on his website, I decide to take the plunge.


If it’s a disaster no worries it’ll grow back. I’m feeling particularly generous with my hair at the moment. I’ll let you in on a little secret, I’m lazy when it comes to getting my hair done. It’s like I’m not really a girl in this area of my life. I rarely go and when I do it’s last minute and not particularly well planned. I could quiet possibly regret todays decision.

Throwing caution to the wind I enlist Donatella to join me on my hair-adventure. She reminds me that he’s “creative” and “artistic” in his approach. If he chooses to create a masterpiece with the canvas sprouting from my cranium, she doesn’t want to be held responsible. Having said that, I’d never let him go as far as the disaster that many of us experienced with 80s hair.


Not exactly my hair but you get the idea.

Upon arrival at his studio he begins our session with a series of questions: how short? layers? no layers? hair idols? pictures? As he speaks he runs his fingers through my hair and studies the structure of my face. After a skillful washing that includes tactical scrutiny of the length, previous cut and condition of my hair, he walks me to his chair and for the third time, reviews in detail, the texture of my hair as he partially dries it. As he works he continues to examining the angles of my face. Once my hair is partially dry, he leaves my side to peruse his selection of music. He choses an appropriate inspirational CD from his sizeable collection.

Now the Jazz in Rasoi Hair Jazz, makes sense, he’s actually cutting my hair to Jazz. Can you imagine? Up until I hear the music, I hadn’t quiet grasped the artistry he possessed. It seems I’m in good hands with Maestro-Fabio.

Such skill and movement

Such skill and movement

The cutting begins in a flurry of motion. His hands move in directions contrary to the natural flow of nature. Segments of hair find themselves airborne momentarily before descending around me, joining the other fallen solders littering the floor within a 4 foot radius of where I’m sitting. I’m mesmerized by his movements that I liken to Edward Sizzorhands, combined with his facial communication giving way to either pride or discontent. Snip after snip he smiles or winces until he is satisfied. With each cut he runs his fingertips from root to end, twirling and massaging each tendril until he’s achieved the perfect textural reaction. With the rise and fall of the tempo in his chosen music, his scissors keep perfect time.

My eyes dance between his face and his hands, I can’t decide where to look: his facial expressions are animated and intense, his hands are mystical and fluid. Much like those of a painter engulfed in a masterpiece. Glints of light reflect off forged steel as his razor-sharp tools clip repeatedly, creating a halo of activity engulfing my tingling scalp. I find myself intoxicated by his graceful movements, as if hypnotized under a magicians spell.

magical hands

This photo might possibly be a slight exaggeration of how I feel… You decide!

Long story short… You need a hair cut? You want an experience? You’re in Florence? Go see Fabio and prepare for a moment well worth the price of admission. You’ll find him at: Rasoi Jazz Hair

Having some fun. Fabio brings out one of his musical instruments.

Having some fun. Fabio brings out one of his musical instruments.

He was embarrassed after I told him I was writing a story on my time in his studio...

He was embarrassed after I told him I was writing a story on my time in his studio…
Donatella and Fabio on the Street outside Hair Jazz

Donatella and Fabio on the Street outside Hair Jazz

About Italian Living

I'm an interior decorator from Canada. I own a design firm. I have three grown daughters who are confidant women living busy lives. I love my family my friends and my life, however, something is missing. December 3rd, my eyes open at 3:33 a.m. It's time to fulfill my lifelong dream of living in Italy..... I rent my house, pack my bags, say a final farewell to all the people I love most in this world and hop on a plane January 13th.... alone. This is my story...
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