A great haircut? At $624, it had better be

By Melissa Rayworth

updated 12:05 p.m. ET May 6, 2005

NEW YORK - In the world of celebrities, where paparazzi lurk and beauty is legal tender, perfect hair isn't just a preference — it's a business investment.

Magazines trumpet the importance of flawless celebrity locks and pounce gleefully when someone dares to falter. "Katie Holmes split from Chris Klein — and got split ends, too!" "Heidi Klum's roots put her on the beauty police roster's most-wanted list!"

In Beverly Hills or New York's SoHo, the price tag for a celeb-worthy cut can reach $600. Coloring adds another $300, and a 20 percent tip and tax can bring the tab for those casual (and quite frequent) salon visits to above $1,000.

But can a haircut — any haircut — really be worth that much? Could a makeover done by one of Hollywood's hair gurus make a suburban mom look as glamorous as a movie star? Being one of those moms, I decided to find out.

I made an appointment for an experiment in celebrity living: cut and color at Prive salon, owned by stylist-to-the-stars Laurent Dufourg. At his New York and L.A. locations, Laurent — he goes by his first name, of course — serves a client list packed with A-listers. Charlize Theron, Madonna, Johnny Depp, Gwyneth Paltrow, Teri Hatcher: They've all sat in Laurent's chair, some as recently as last month.

The price is steep — $300 for a cut by Laurent himself and $300 more for highlights. But Laurent's rates are actually "reasonable" — Sally Hershberger charges clients like Meg Ryan $600 for just a haircut, while Oribe charges $400.

The tea's on us
Prive's New York location is nestled inside the trendy SoHo Grand Hotel, and the un-snobby staff there squeezed me into Laurent's packed schedule — no small feat given his frequent jetting between L.A., New York and various guest appearances for stars on location. Debra Messing, for her most recent appearance on Oprah, flew Laurent to Chicago to tend to her curls.

I arrived at Laurent's Manhattan location in my father-in-law's scratched 1993 Nissan Sentra. The salon looked like I've always assumed Malibu beach houses do: floor-to-ceiling windows flooding the rooms with sunshine, gleaming wooden floors the color of caramel. One wall is constructed entirely of huge, sand-colored bricks that were once part of an 18th-century French chateau.

I was led to a private dressing room with marble countertops and a red velvet chair, and told to change into a black cotton robe. Next came a steaming cup of peppermint tea on a silver tray and a warm greeting from Rocco, my gorgeous colorist.

Laurent was flying in from Chicago, but Rocco had discussed with him by phone exactly what should be done with my hair color, based on a photo I'd e-mailed. Rocco spent the next two hours meticulously painting tiny sections of my hair several different shades of blonde. We had the typical customer-stylist banter — except for the fact that this stylist rented his New York loft to Nicole Kidman last year.

Once I was dyed and shampooed, Laurent's assistant, Irene, escorted me to his work station. I sat in the chair, giddy with anticipation and, I admit, wondering if I was about to realize the emperor had no clothes.