Hair Coach

Mark Jacobs, in last week's New York Times magazine fashion supplement, wrote about the newest of the specialized coaches becoming more and more popular.

We have life coaches, personal trainers, refrigerator stylists, all manner of people willing to make us or our lives better but only now has the hair coach emerged as the must–have human accessory.

Ellen Johnson, a New York City hairdresser, two years ago became a hair coach.

Stylist Lisa von Weise, one of her clients, talked up Johnson to her friends as being much more than a hairdresser and she was launched.

Jacobs found out her secret, unlisted phone number and tracked her down to see what she could offer him.

Here's his story.

My Hair Coach

You've had a trainer, a therapist, a life coach and a personal concierge.

It's time to move on to the next vanity experience, one that will give you fodder for dozens of dinner-party conversations to come.

It's time to track down the hair coach, the New York City hairdresser known for her uncommon consultations with extra hold.

Two years ago, Ellen Johnson -- as the hair coach is also known -- joined the ranks of novelty well-being professionals, which includes the fashion astrologer and the refrigerator stylist.

She got the label from a client, the stylist Lisa von Weise, who needed a quicker way to describe what was special about her hairstylist.

''She intuitively incorporates everything about you,'' von Weise says.

''Your personality, if you're single, if you're married, what your job is, what your lifestyle is, where you live, how you dress, everything. Instead of a therapist, she's a hair coach.''

Which is how she marketed Johnson to her friends, fashion insiders practiced in the art of disseminating news of the next big thing.

When I heard about the hair coach from two male friends with athletically maintained hair, I asked for her number, which is only available through word of mouth.

Her services sounded too attractively absurd to resist.

During my visit, we talked about my hair in a way that made me appreciate the privacy of her salon, located in the living room of her Chelsea walk-up apartment.

First she asked me to run my hands through my hair as I would in the morning so that she could observe the motion.

''Some people move their hands differently,'' she explained, ''so I get a wave pattern moving in a certain direction so it will fall naturally.''

She was enthusiastic about wave patterns and traced them in the air over my head whenever the subject arose.

Next Johnson assessed the shape of my skull (''proportionate''), asked if I turn up my collar (only when wearing a topcoat) and said that I could go either way on facial hair (''It's not unprofessional, it just depends on what your profession is,'' she added).

When she pointed out that there was too much volume at the back of my head, I disclosed that it was because I'd cut my own hair since reworking an attempt in 2001 at the feathered style worn by Jason Patric in ''The Lost Boys.''

She understood.

Because the hair coach is laid-back.

She's from Southern California and appreciates driftwood.

Her bed-head philosophy contradicts that of Kyan Douglas from ''Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,'' which she described as ''glop it through'' and ''make it crazy.''

Instead, she recommended a modest amount of product, and only to the tips.

At one point she excitedly produced the coffee-table book ''Linda McCartney's 60's: Portrait of an Era,'' which fell open to an image of a 17-year-old session musician with long, twisted bangs whom she cited as an inspiration for the slick, retro-Hollywood style she saw for me.

''It's so damn cool,'' she said.

Together we looked into the future of my hair and saw a neat but natural hairline and side-swept fringe set in place with Psssssst, a spray-on dry shampoo available at Walgreens.

The result was just as she described: an undone look that could quickly clean up into classic film star, a direction that satisfied even my difficult eye.

All for only a $40 fee.

Of her newfound calling as hair coach, Johnson said with open disbelief: ''It's a whole new gimmick. I was really embarrassed at first, but I was slowly charmed because everyone was so cute about calling me it.''

Clearly she offers more than clever packaging.

''I'm not into salons and politics,'' she continued.

''I just want to hang out with somebody and, like, have an honest interaction and be creative. It's all very vague.''

But with visible results.

Life coaches, beware.

Tell you what: she better charge a lot more than $40 for a consultation if she expects people to take her seriously.

Try adding a zero, would be my advice.