Haircuts have always been tricky endeavors.
More often than not, I walk out of the salon or barbershop feeling uncertain, self-conscious, and in need of verbal validation from my mother. In fact, I can only remember of two instances when I look at myself in the mirror after a haircut and my face breaks out into a satisfied and proud smile. Unfortunately for me, time 1 was in Honduras and she left my life as quickly as she entered it.
Time 2 was done by crazy awesome androgynous Japanese person at a swanky hotel in Beijing. It cost me a ridiculous amount of money, but sweet Japanese Haircutting Gods if it wasn’t worth every penny (or fen for that matter). I did some research on it afterwards and it turns out that there’s a strict licensing program and all that jazz. The Japanese take their haircutting seriously and they export out their services. Much like the Jedi, there are always two: a master and an apprentice. (Ed. Incidentally, when getting a haircut, make sure to tip the both of them.)
Unfortunately, yesterday was very firmly on the “uncertain, self-conscious” side of things.
I’m trying to let my hair grow out, or, rather, I was trying to let my hair grow out. When I informed my plump haircutting lady about this, she broke out her scissors and did her best to make sure that no hair would be covering my eyes…or forehead anytime soon.
Obviously it was my fault for being unaware that “I’d like to let my hair grow out but keep in manageable” meant “I’d like to never ever need to buy a comb.” Good thing that autumn is on its way here! My ears totally don’t need insulation.
I guess it leaves me with no choice but to purchase plane tickets to Japan in the next 4-6 weeks. I’m going straight to the source.
Weird timing. Ferrydust and I have the same problem. Japan it is!