Let It Be

There are good reasons why I don't get my hair cut in Hanoi. Many very good reasons, actually. This means that I haven't had my hair cut or a few months, when I was in KL. And it's looking ratty.

So when I found myself stuck in Singapore a few weekends ago I decided it was time.

Singapore has more potatoes than Idaho, so I expected that most decent salons would have experience with non-Asian hair ... and in a reasonably modern style.

The hotel recommended somewhere nearby and made me an appointment for 2.30. I turned up at this place on time. It was a stock standard salon. I told by someone who I imagined was the cleaner to wait for 5 mins. About 20 seconds later another person took me to the chair and dumped a bunch of magazines in front of me.

Great, I thought, at least they know the drill. Oddly enough though, these were not magazines with pictures of men, or hair, or men's hair in them. 2 of them were women's hair things and the rest seemed to be Chinese homewares catalogues.

No problem, I thought, at least I am in Singapore so communication shouldn't be an issue.

A few minutes later the cleaner came back to me with a holster full of scissors. She approached the mirror and said to me "How short you want it?".

"What?", I said.

-- "How short? Hair. How short. You want short?"

"I'm sorry. I've never had a hairdresser begin a conversation like this. Aren't you going to ask me any questions, like what style I'm considering?"

-- "Huh? Sure. What style? How short you want the style?"

Now it was my turn to be short. I turned around looked her in the face and sunk the rusty knife in.

"I don't have any confidence in you doing a good job. Sorry. This is not going well at all."

And with that I left.

Finding other salons in this megamall was easy. Getting an appointment was not. It's approaching Chinese New Year so everyone is getting themselves ready. Oddly enough, the salons were most full of young men with their hair in foils.

Now I was fucked, but probably not as much as if I went the distance with this rogue cleaner.

I eventually found a place which seemed OK and could squeeze me in at 8pm.

Let me cut a long story short.

The place was full of young groovy people (staff and customers). She suggested a style which included a forward fringe with a slant across it.

Rather than admit that I was too old, I told her this style was a little too young. She was pushy so I said I would allow a slight gradient. Ever so slight. We negotiated the angle and off she went.

I was reading a magazine most of the time, stopping to obtusely answer her pointed questions (how old are you? married? girlfriend? where are you going out tonight? have you eaten? why haven't you eaten? when will you be eating? make sure I don't forget to eat OK? so how much money to you make?).

By the time looked back at the mirror, I realised we had a problem on our hands.

I'd been given a very modern cut. Something suitable for a Chinese 22 yo. Fringe combed forward, steep slope across my forehead, combed forward and quite voluminous in the back. It was too late to amend the fringe so I asked her for some more texture in it. This resulted in the sloping fringe becoming completely uneven.

I got back to the hotel, went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. There was someone else staring back at me. It wasn't 'me. It was the lead singer of an ageing Chinese Beatles tribute band; in shock.

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Epilogue

I was just cleaning out my receipts and saw this one. My $38 haircut was broken down as follows:

$28 WASH+CUT+BLOW

$10 CREATIVE SURCHARGE

So this wasn't her fault after all. She was just earning the ten bucks by coming up with something creative. Anything.