The Only Press That Matters
Let me tell you about one day in my salon that I'll never forget.
The beauty directors of the most important daily, the most important weekly, and the most important monthly were all in my chair — on the same day. These are women so busy they could never manage to find a date for dinner together. But that day, they accidentally met. In my salon. Laughing, catching up, waiting for their product to take.
That's how deep in the press world I was. I wasn't just written about — the people who wrote it all were my clients. Magazines, features, "best of London" lists. For years, you couldn't miss me.
And then I walked away from all of it.
Here's the truth about how it ended: there was no dramatic moment, no announcement. I stopped almost subconsciously. I just started saying no — an interview here, a feature there — before I could even explain why. It simply didn't feel right anymore. The kind of new people I found myself working for didn't feel right. My gut understood it long before my head did.
People still ask me why. So here it is, honestly — the reasons I only worked out afterwards.
When your name is in the magazines, a new kind of client starts arriving. They haven't come for the hair. They've come for the name — to say they sat in that chair. And a chair only has so many hours in a day. Slowly, without me noticing at first, the people I'd looked after for twenty-odd years — through weddings, heartbreaks, new jobs, the first grey hairs — couldn't get an appointment anymore. The clients who built my life were being pushed out by people who had only read about it.
That was the first thing.
The second thing is harder to admit. Being put up high isn't good for you. When someone arrives having read you're one of the best, they're not meeting you — they're meeting an article. The expectations are strange, inflated. Every appointment becomes a performance. And I never wanted a stage. I never wanted to be famous. I'm just an ordinary lad who happens to be a hairdresser. I love doing good hair, and I love the company of the people in my chair. That's it. That's the whole ambition.
So I stopped the press. And I don't chase social media either, for the same simple reason: I don't need new clients. My book is full of people I genuinely enjoy seeing — and honestly, after enough years, they're not clients anymore. They're friends. The haircut somewhere along the way became the least important part of the appointment.
But here's what I've realised since: I never actually gave up press. I just get a better kind now.
The best press I've ever had was never printed. It happens at a dinner table, when one woman looks at her friend's hair and asks, "who does that?" You can't buy that review. No PR agency can arrange it. It's earned one head at a time, and it walks around London every day, doing my talking for me. The work speaks for itself — I don't have to.
And the clients it brings arrive differently. They come with trust already in their pocket, handed over by someone who's sat with me for years. They come for the hair, not the name. Those are the ones who stay twenty years. Those are the ones who become friends.
Now — don't misunderstand me. I'm not naive about this, and I haven't sworn some vow of silence. Press is a tool, and a powerful one. I just refuse to point it at my chair, because my chair doesn't need it.
I remember a conversation from years ago that stuck with me. It was with Trevor Sorbie — a man I greatly respected. I asked him why he was opening more salons when he already had his beautiful, thriving Covent Garden one. He looked at me and said: "I'm not stupid. Money is money." Simple as that. Sometimes you just do what you have to do.
That's exactly where I am now. I've started doing socials again — but not to gain clients. Never for that. I'm doing it because there are things I want to give to the hairdressing industry: education for stylists, passing on what thirty years behind the chair has taught me, and the products I'm developing. Those need a voice, so I'm giving them one. The attention is pointed at the work, not at me. That's the difference.
Press to share what I know and sell an idea? Yes.
Press to fill a chair that's already full with people I love? Never again.
So that's my press page now. No clippings. Just this.
And if someone sent you here — then you've already had my best review.
— Zoltan
SQUARESPACE SETTINGS PACK
Post title: The Only Press That Matters
URL slug: the-only-press-that-matters
Excerpt: One day, the beauty directors of London's biggest daily, weekly and monthly were all in my chair. Then I walked away from press altogether. Here's why — and what the only press that matters looks like now.
SEO title: The Only Press That Matters | Zoltan Hair Mayfair
SEO description: Mayfair hairdresser Zoltan on leaving magazine fame behind: the best review is never printed — it's a friend asking "who does your hair?" Trust, earned one head at a time.
Tags: press, recommendation, word of mouth, loyalty, client relationships, behind the chair
Categories: Personal / Behind the Chair
Featured image suggestions (free, legally usable):
Two women talking over coffee (the recommendation moment) — https://unsplash.com/s/photos/women-talking-coffee
Empty salon chair, moody light — https://unsplash.com/s/photos/salon-chair-empty
Beautiful hair detail, back of head — https://www.pexels.com/search/beautiful%20hair%20back/
Social share image: The coffee conversation image, cropped 1200×630.
Page closing line (on its own, below post):New clients are welcomed by recommendation.
Location: Mayfair, London
V10 — 24 Jul 2026 — Named Trevor Sorbie and his Covent Garden salon in the "money is money" anecdote
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