The Polish Hairdresser Pampering Athens' Homeless Population

Judy Protsnal dyeing Maria's hair

Judy Protsnal is a Polish woman who, at the age of 19 and after the fall of the Soviet Union, emigrated to Athens. She worked as a cleaner for years, but her dream was always to become a hairdresser, practising the craft she learned as a young girl in her home country. And when the recession hit and people began to sacrifice luxuries like having a professionally cleaned home for more important stuff, such as food and central heating, she did just that.

Her clients are members of Athens' homeless population, and all the work she does is pro bono. "They don't just need food – they also really need someone to care of them," she says while Maria – today's client – prepares herself for a total makeover. Maria is homeless, but is currently living in a squat in the Metaxourgio neighbourhood.

Judy looks up and laughs: "One thing’s for sure – I never expected to have my picture taken while I dye hair, as if I’m a frigging model or something."

She has a few missing teeth, but her smile is wide and honest – far more genuine than the pearly whites of the model on the dye box she's holding. She bought the dye with a month's worth of savings, and the packet is starting to deteriorate. "It's a cheap Bulgarian brand I’ve never seen before," she says. “It cost me €3 (£2.50)."

She bends over her equipment and mixes the dye. I ask her what her clients say when they first meet her. "Women usually ask me what would look good on them – what is trendy and fashionable," she replies.

Judy thinks of herself as more of a hobbyist than a professional. "I’ve never been paid – I do what I do because I like it," she clarifies, combing the dye through Maria’s washed out hair. Maria says she used to dye her hair at a proper beauty salon when her salary was high enough to be able to spend €60 or €70 on her appearance. "I never imagined that I would go through such rough times, or that I would eventually end up homeless," she sighs.

Judy takes off her rubber gloves. "Half an hour to 40 minutes, and then we wash your hair immediately," she says, before lighting a cigarette and sparking up a conversation about hair trends – the kind you'd hear in any of Greece's salons. Only, in this case of course, those trends sit within the context of a completely different demographic – those living under bridges or down side streets and alleyways.

"Christina’s hair needs to be dyed and cut, too. She wants a light brown tone, but I’m giving her a honey-like or chocolate colour," Judy says, talking about another of her homeless clients. "This year we should avoid crazy shapes – bobbed hair must be simple. Basically, we should only play with colours," she continues.

"I’ll take care of anyone’s hair, as long as they want me to," she says when I visit her at her home in Petralona. "If I have the money, I’ll personally pay for the hair dye, too – although most of the ladies tend to buy their own colours. It gives me great pleasure to wash, cut and comb people’s hair. If I can make a lady feel good about herself by plucking her eyebrows, why wouldn’t I?"

Judy's house is often where she sees her clients, and has also acted as a temporary hostel in the past. "I’m familiar with homeless people," she says. "Actually, I‘ve accommodated two in the past for about a year each. I felt OK around them because I knew that, once I let them in, they would find a way to return the favour. The bad thing was that they were unable to hold on to their money.

"They would spend everything they earned on alcohol, which was really disappointing because it was due to my husband’s efforts that they managed to find any job whatsoever. Once, one of them broke into my house and stole from me. That was when I decided to tone it down a notch."

Maria, however, wouldn't be a worry in Judy's home. She takes part in various support teams, is an active member of a social cuisine initiative called "The Other Person" and distributes food to those in need every day. At night, when it gets cold, she sleeps in a special common room created by the Municipality of Athens.

"Well, there’s a comfortable bed and some warm water there, so it’s good. But winter is always tough – I can’t wait for spring to come. Spring is lovely," she tells me.

We then hear Judy calling from the bathroom, where she's ready to wash the dye out of Maria's hair. "We should really lighten up your hair in spring," she screams down the hall. I ask Maria if she'd like to go blonde. "No way – I’ve tried it before and it looked awful," she replies. "I've also tried highlights. Once, I dyed my hair ginger on my own – I had nothing better to do, really."

Maria takes me back to the years that she lived in the relatively middle class Patisia neighbourhood. "You'd never guess what I went through back then," she starts. "My hairdresser tried to remove my original colour in order to dye my hair red right after. As the time passed, I started to worry that it was taking her too much time – I had to go to work and I really couldn’t wait any longer. The result was worse than I thought. I TURNED GINGER. What the fuck was that?

"She had totally fucked me and I just couldn’t take it, let alone pay her €80. I threatened to trash her place, but the only thing she said was, 'You were nervous and that prevented the colour from sticking to your hair.' She tried to fix it, and I paid her half the amount she asked for and left the place with no intention of ever coming back. Thank god I found a talented Albanian girl later, who genuinely saved the day. I paid her €60 and she deserved every penny of it."

Switching back to the present, she continues: "Oh, a simple visit to a hair salon can be a treat. It really revives you, doesn’t it?"

While Judy combs her hair, she says, "Once you dry my hair, I’ll bring some make-up so you can do something with my face, too." I notice her laughing as she examines her face in the mirror.

"See? I was right. Black doesn't necessarily have to be totally black. You can always lighten it up a bit," says Judy as the dye washes out.