The Cutting Edge

As a hairstylist in someone else's shop, John Tramel built a sizable, loyal clientele. But turning that into a successful business of his own is proving to be not as easy

In 1983, after driving a truck for nine years, John Carl Tramel suddenly found himself out of work, a victim of hard times. He was 27 years old, a high school graduate with a family, a mortgage, and an uncertain future. But opportunity can knock in odds ways, as it did one day while he was getting a haircut.

It happened that the stylist, Bob Lavender, was a personal friend. Since Tramel had no other plans, Lavender suggested, why not get into the hairdressing business? Tramel had the kind of friendly, easygoing manner that would work well "behind the chair," as they say in the salon trade. If he could make it through beauty school, a nine-month program, Lavender promised him a job.

Beauty school? Tramel didn't quite know what to think. What would his softball team say? And his hunting buddies? He was, after all, a truck driver. Setting curlers and styling perms fell a little short on the machismo scale.

But as he mulled it over, the idea seemed somehow attractive. He had always wanted a job where he could wear nice clothes. And there seemed to be some money in the field, at least for an owner. Lavender, who had 12 salons, lived in a big house and drove a Mercedes.

It couldn't be all bad, and besides, nothing better was on the horizon. "It wasn't my great dream to become a hairdresser," Tramel says, but off he went to The National Academy of Beauty Arts, near St. Louis, his hometown.

By July 1984 he was a licensed cosmetologist, and he set out to build a clientele -- a slow, painstaking process. A hairdresser must win customers' trust before they'll become regulars. A haircut isn't a matter of life or death, but still, most people would prefer not to get a bad one. Tramel was competent. In fact, he considered himself a perfectionist. Even so, it was tough. During his first six months he grossed a mere $2,200. "We were thrilled if he made $100 a week," says his wife, Linda.

When Lavender sold his business, Hair Attraction, Tramel moved on to other salons, eventually landing in a place called Stop 'n' Style, a small salon near the town of Arnold, Mo., where he and his family lived. Despite the shop's modest accommodations, Tramel's business thrived. By 1989 he was earning $32,600 a year.

He did indeed seem talented in his new profession. And he liked it, particularly the artistic side. He enjoyed trying to make people look their best. As his reputation grew, he found his calendar booked solid for five and even six weeks in advance.

It's almost a tradition in the hairdressing world for popular stylists to branch out on their own. Tramel had planned to open his own salon all along, even when he was struggling. By late 1989 he felt secure enough to get serious about it. He had some 300 regular customers by then, a critical mass, and he was sure they would follow him to his own shop.

But building a clientele is one thing, and building a business is quite another. Technically, Tramel had been self-employed since 1984 -- he rented stations in the salons where he worked, keeping all his proceeds, instead of going on commission. But he had no real business experience. Neither did Linda. Her only stint outside the home had been as a supermarket checkout clerk.

She had, however, taken some practical steps. Whenever she saw a helpful article in a trade journal, she clipped and filed it. She'd also taken a course at a community college: How to Start Your Own Business. It wasn't M.B.A. stuff exactly, but it covered the basics -- taxes, the importance of customer satisfaction, the advantages of incorporation.

Then she did some demographic research on Arnold. With a population of 23,000, it was growing steadily. Baby-boomer families were migrating to it from St. Louis, 15 miles to the north, in search of a better quality of life. "We saw a lot of new developments with large homes and nice cars in the driveways," she says. "We knew people like that wouldn't be comfortable in these little hole-in-the-wall salons we had here."

Competition wasn't a major worry. A couple of salons in the area were respectable, and Great Clips, part of a big chain, was in an Arnold strip mall. But the rest were rather low-rent operations -- one was in a trailer. Clearly, the area could support a new, first-class establishment, which is what Tramel had in mind. He understood, for instance, that strangers disliked sitting too close to one another in waiting areas; his place would be roomy. He also knew that stylists need a place to get away from clients for a few minutes, for lunch or relaxation. Most "break rooms" he'd seen were glorified closets. His would be more spacious. And he didn't like the bowling-alley look so common in salons, with the service chairs all in a row. He envisioned eight stations loosely positioned around a large room.

Then he pondered the shop's atmosphere. That was key. The "emotional experience" that's created in the chair, according to salon consultants, is a huge factor in a shop's success. If customers don't feel at ease, they might not return, regardless of service quality. Tramel had worked in places where the prevailing colors were rose or mauve. Since his clientele was 40% male, he wanted something neutral. He settled on a black-and-white motif -- crisp and timeless.

In short, he wanted something with a little class. Nothing glitzy, mind you -- no Los Angeles-style number with MTV and wine coolers in the waiting areas. This was, after all, Arnold, Mo., ground zero of the American heartland. "I just wanted a place that looked professional," he says, "where the customers would feel comfortable, and where stylists would like to work."

In projecting start-up costs, the Tramels estimated that they needed $35,000. That would buy equipment and supplies, pay the up-front rent, and leave a little cash for initial operations. Their own resources, however, were virtually nil -- a small car and an old pickup were about it. After Tramel had lost his trucking job, they used up their savings and sold their house. In 1983, in fact, they and their son had to move in with Linda's mother. In 1989 they were still there.