On May 12, 1989, when word got out that Paul Glick was closing his prestigious Michigan Avenue salon, chaos erupted among his employees. Hairstylists normally poised and sophisticated began scurrying from one work station to another, cursing and complaining. “That son of a bitch!” one screamed. “I knew it I knew it I knew it! How can he do this to us?” Another young stylist gazed out the window down onto the Magnificent Mile and quietly wept. One of the shampoo ladies sobbed openly. “This isn’t right; this just isn’t right,” she repeated over and over.
But gradually Glick moved from hairstyling to image consulting, offering advice on dress and grooming. Unlike other image consultants, he did not impose a “look” on his clients. Instead he tried to coax out a style that expressed the client’s personality. Like a therapist, he would ask probing questions about each person’s ambitions and anxieties. He often delved into sensitive areas, such as sexuality and personal beliefs, in an effort to get clients to analyze themselves honestly.
Glick decided that if he survived, he would no longer spend his days managing the salon. He would continue to do the image consulting, since that made him feel he was making a contribution to others, but he would also get back in touch with a passion he’d put aside long ago–art.
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On the salon’s final day, as Glick walked the streets wondering what to do, he could have been portrayed as the victim of a Greek tragedy–a hero brought down by a tragic flaw. But Glick’s story is more like a tragedy in reverse. His bout with cancer, combined with his penchant for introspection and self-analysis, had helped him identify and repair some potentially tragic flaws, and put him on the road to a new life.
“I have purported to be an expert on change, so after I closed my business, I said to myself, ‘OK Glick, let’s see you take on change,’” he recalled.
The poverty gnawed at Glick, and at the age of six he reversed his family’s fortunes. Glick’s sister, Charlotte Zandberg, who lives in the northwest suburbs, recalls the episode vividly.
“I could dress up and walk down the street looking good and no one knew I was worthless,” Glick said. “I hid behind clothing and appearances.”
