Know who’s drifting before they’re gone
FreshTrim learns each customer’s rhythm and tells you the day they break it — then brings them back in one tap.
An extra €10 a month, on the free plan as readily as the paid one, free for the first 14 days. Everything above is included in your plan already.
Drifting
14
You can email
9 of 14
Worth a month
€327
- €24.00 a visit
Daniel Ryan
Usually every 3 weeks · 9 weeks since the last one
- €18.00 a visit
Jack Moloney
Usually every 2 weeks · 5 weeks since the last one
- €21.50 a visit
Oisín Keane
Usually every 6 weeks · 4 months since the last one
- €20.00 a visit
Dara Walsh
Usually every 4 weeks · 7 weeks since the last one
Six weeks is the wrong question
Every shop has a rule of thumb — "if I have not seen them in six weeks, they are gone". It is wrong in both directions at once. The customer who comes every fortnight is already drifting at three weeks and nobody notices for another month; the one who comes every six weeks gets chased while they are still perfectly happy, which is how a list gets burned. FreshTrim works out each person’s own gap from their own visits — the middle one, so a single six-month absence in an otherwise regular history does not skew it — and calls them drifting at half again their own rhythm. A fortnightly regular is flagged at three weeks. A six-weekly one is not flagged until nine.
It needs three visits before it says anything
Two visits is one gap, and one gap is a coincidence rather than a rhythm. So somebody who came twice and stopped is not on this list, and neither is anybody who booked and did not turn up — a no-show is not a haircut, and a shop chasing people who never sat in the chair is a shop wasting the goodwill it has.
And it tells you what it is worth
Beside the names: what each of them usually spent, scaled by how often they usually came. A fortnightly customer at €20 is worth more in a month than a six-weekly one at €30, and a list that added those up the same way would be telling you the wrong thing about both. The screen calls it an estimate and says outright that it is not money you have lost — most of them come back on their own, and a number that pretended otherwise is one you would stop believing.
Only the people who asked to hear from you
A customer ticking a box on your booking page is what makes an offer lawful to send in Ireland, and this will not send to anyone who did not. That means the screen shows you two numbers rather than one — fourteen drifting, nine you can email — and the gap between them is deliberate. It is uncomfortable and it is the honest picture, and it is also the argument for asking properly: the nine are worth more than a list of fourteen you are not allowed to use.
One email, and no more than one every ninety days
Your words, their name, and a button that opens your booking page. No pictures, no tracking pixel, nothing counting whether they opened it. The ninety-day floor is not a setting you can lower — a shop that messages a lapsed customer monthly is spending a list it took years to build, and the product will not help with that. Every message carries a one-tap way off, on a page that says plainly that booking confirmations and reminders keep coming, because the first thing anybody thinks when they unsubscribe is that they have cancelled their appointment.
Whether it worked, measured honestly
A nudge counts as having worked if that customer books within thirty days — by any route, including ringing the shop, which plenty of them will. You get sent, booked-after and what those bookings came to. It is reported as "booked after a nudge" and never as "caused by", because some of these people were coming back anyway and a report that took the credit would be the kind of number that makes you distrust the rest of the screen.
The rest of it
A page you would be happy to be found on
Your name, your colour, your hours, your address with directions, your Instagram. Send the link, put it in your bio, or drop two lines into the site you already have.
Your whole day, one screen
A column per chair, hour by hour. Tap a booking to mark it done, take a walk-in, or drag it to a new time. Works on the phone in your pocket.
Reminders that know when to stop
A confirmation with a calendar invite the moment they book, and a reminder before the appointment. Cancel the booking and the reminder cancels itself.
Money up front, if you want it
Take a deposit or the full price when they book. Cards handled by Stripe, paid straight into your account. We never hold your money.
Rotas, holidays and the week off
Two-week rotas, one-off changes, a chair renter’s own hours, Irish bank holidays already in, including the February one, and a closed sign when you are away.
What the empty chair cost you
Seven numbers you would actually act on. Including the one nobody else shows you: the hours a chair sat empty that could have been booked.
Cancellations fill themselves
We hold the freed slot for the first person in your queue — no racing, and no “sorry, it is gone”.
A loyalty card your barbers never have to scan
Stamps add themselves after every visit. The reward applies itself at booking. You do nothing.
Sell the pomade behind the chair
Your products on your booking page, paid for online and collected in the shop. No couriers, no packing, and nothing to promise about delivery.
Gift cards somebody can buy at eleven at night in December
Cash in your account now, a customer in the chair later, and the five years to spend it that Irish law requires.
Your booking link just became a website
Hero photo, your story, your reviews, your hours, a map — and a Book Now button on top. Free with every plan.
Your work, where people decide
Photos of the cuts you are proud of, on your homepage and on a page of their own. Taken on a phone, tidied up by us.
Turn good haircuts into Google reviews
One polite ask after each visit — to everyone, the way Google’s rules require. Anyone unhappy reaches you privately before they reach the internet.