There’s something quietly revelatory about realising you’ve outgrown the person who once settled for box dye in a bathroom with flickering overhead light. It doesn’t happen with fanfare. It creeps in on a rainy weekday morning, when the mirror stares back a little too truthfully and your hair seems to carry the weight of everything you've brushed aside. That was precisely the moment I first heard of Haug London Haus—a name murmured by a friend who works in luxury PR and swears by stylists the way some people swear by therapists. She said it wasn’t just a salon. It was “a reset for your soul—through your scalp.”
I arrived on Charlotte Place with the kind of hair fatigue that only women who’ve tried to save money on haircuts truly understand. My expectations weren’t modest—I’d done my research. This wasn’t just another salon claiming to offer high-end beauty services. Haug London Haus had already become something of an insider secret among Fitzrovia’s most discerning clientele. Opened by Siobhan and Philipp Haug, two of the most revered names in British hairdressing, the salon is nestled on a surprisingly tranquil side street just minutes from the pulse of Oxford Street. Its location alone felt symbolic—a place removed from the noise, a refuge for reinvention.
The door opened with a soft chime, and I was met with the understated opulence that makes a lasting impression. There’s no aggressive branding, no aggressive anything, really. The space is warm but polished, thoughtfully modern without trying too hard to be cool. Leather chairs you want to curl up in. Scandinavian wood finishes that whisper serenity. A curated soundtrack that seems to sense your mood before you do. It was the kind of place where the luxury lifestyle isn't a performance—it’s an atmosphere.
Philipp greeted me with a handshake that was both firm and friendly. You instantly get the sense he understands hair on an intuitive level—like a sculptor understands marble. Siobhan, meanwhile, floats through the space with the precision of a master colourist and the warmth of someone who genuinely loves making people feel beautiful. This, I would later realise, is the essence of Haug London Haus: precision and empathy in equal measure. Their credentials are astounding—Siobhan crowned British Colour Technician of the Year and Philipp named London Hairdresser of the Year—but they carry those accolades like well-worn coats, not badges to flash.
What followed wasn’t just a haircut. It was a consultation in the truest sense of the word. Not a rushed exchange of wishes and warnings, but a conversation that somehow managed to encompass everything from the texture of my strands to the texture of my life. How much do you travel? What’s your morning routine like? Do you wear your hair up at work? It was less about what I wanted, and more about who I was—an approach I’ve come to realise is the foundation of all truly bespoke hair treatments.
As Siobhan began mixing colour with the kind of care you’d expect from a Michelin chef, she explained how modern colouring techniques have shifted. “It’s not about covering grey or changing who you are,” she said, “it’s about honouring where you are in your story.” Her words stayed with me longer than the toner.
The clients around me were as diverse as the Fitzrovia skyline. A hedge fund manager fresh from Dubai, sipping green tea while reviewing spreadsheets. A retired fashion editor discussing her granddaughter’s graduation look. A young artist preparing for her first solo exhibition. This wasn’t a place that catered to one archetype—it catered to stories, to evolutions. And that’s what made the experience feel so personal, so layered. The woman beside me was debating whether to go platinum blonde. Her stylist offered not just technical advice but emotional insight, gently asking, “Is this colour speaking to a mood—or a chapter?”
By the time my own transformation was complete, I didn’t feel different—I felt more like myself than I had in months. My hair moved with grace again, catching the light instead of absorbing it. The dry, tired ends that once spoke of neglect now fell softly across my collarbone, and the colour—rich, dimensional, unapologetically elegant—seemed to reflect not just a new shade, but a fresh outlook. I didn’t just look better. I felt calibrated.
It wasn’t until I left that I fully realised what set Haug London Haus apart from the so-called luxury salons I’d visited before. Here, luxury wasn’t just in the plush seating or the complimentary oat milk flat white. It was in the rhythm of the experience—the way appointments never felt hurried, how stylists listened as if they had nowhere else to be, how no one pushed products at checkout. It was a kind of service I hadn’t known to hope for: intuitive, generous, deeply human.
A week later, at a dinner party in Chelsea, someone complimented my hair with such sincerity that I surprised myself by saying, “Thank you—it’s from Haug London Haus,” like I’d just named my tailor on Savile Row. It wasn’t bragging. It was reverence. And that’s the thing—this place leaves a mark on you, not just in how you look, but in how you perceive your own worth.
Luxury, we’re often told, is about excess. But spend two hours in a salon like this and you begin to see that true luxury—sustainable, deeply satisfying luxury—is about presence. It's about being somewhere that understands the emotional currency of beauty, and the delicate art of helping you return to yourself.
There are a few things I’ve come to associate with my visits to Haug London Haus now: the quiet confidence in Philipp’s scissor work, the way Siobhan studies your skin tone before choosing the subtlest shift in hue, the ambient lighting that somehow makes everyone glow. And maybe more than anything else, the feeling of being seen. Not just your hair. You.
It’s a funny thing, the relationship we have with our hair. It holds time. It holds memories. And sometimes, it holds us back from evolving. In a city as ceaseless as London, where the tempo never slows and reinvention is a kind of social currency, finding a space that offers stillness, craft, and care feels rarer than gold.
That’s what I found tucked away behind a frosted door in Fitzrovia. Not just a place to get your hair done. A refuge for discerning individuals who understand that how we treat ourselves—how we choose to be seen—says everything about what we value.
And for those of us who live between boardrooms, gallery openings, and flights to far-off places, the knowledge that such a space exists is comforting. That amid the noise of trends and treatments, there’s a salon that remembers what it means to be human, and to offer care that meets you exactly where you are.
Sometimes, the most luxurious thing you can do isn’t to chase something new—it’s to reclaim something true 💇♀️✨