While wrapping up the 1972 ski season, I met a male hairdresser who seemed to have everything I wanted: nice clothes, a new Porsche and lots of women. Wads of cash, thick hair on his chest, and lots of women. Socks with no holes, gleaming teeth and lots of women. But, what particularly impressed me was that he could afford a place without 18 roommates. So, at the end of the ski season, I moved into a studio apartment with two friends and enrolled at The Hair Academy of Beverly Hills. I didn’t do much research to see if it was a good school – I surmised if it was…