In all honesty, I needed a haircut before I left the States 2.5 months ago. I was just too busy pre-departure and once I got here I kept putting it off citing language barriers, not knowing what I wanted, whatever excuse was convenient.
So, the dirty little secret is: I don’t like going for hair things...some people think they are relaxing and love feeling pampered/fussed over...I think trips to the salon are terrifying, stressful and, more often than not, borderline disasters. Usually, I am a “wash and go” girl...I usually don’t even dry my hair. I digress, anyway, my hair was looking pretty scraggly, so I decided to bite the proverbial bullet and get my first Korean haircut.
I went to this new-ish looking salon. It is near the bus station so I have seen it a couple of times since I have been here. I actually went in once with a friend with the intention of getting my hair cut then, but I balked. Anyway, so I went with the mindset that, come hell or high water, my hair was getting cut. A couple of members of the staff actually remembered me from when I was there waiting on my friend, and one actually spoke a fair amount of English...so I relaxed a little and decided that if anyone could do a good haircut on me it was going to be my fellow Koreans.
So, I place my hair in their capable hands and it takes the woman literally 10 minutes to get my hair into a nice cut that is still long (ok, I hate short hair on myself, so keeping it long-ish is a big deal). Then, before I can shake off the loose hair trimmings the chemist (that is what I am going to call him) wheels his cart over by my chair and starts smearing stuff on my hair. I tell myself that it is one of those hair mask thingies (I told you I am hair care challenged) and let it happen. So, this happens a few times and when I catch his eye in the mirror he points to the magazine in my lap and says “we are doing this.”
Panic begins to set it...the girl on the cover has blonde hair! Before I can form a coherent thought about being a blonde Korean he leads me back to get the stuff washed out.
Ok, the hair stuff is washed out...I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and my hair is still black, so I try to relax, but instead of sitting me down in a styling chair they take me to a chair off to the side. I think, maybe I am just going to wait here when they start rolling my hair up onto the hair octopus-thing. It is this crazy Medusa-looking thing they they roll my hair on and plug me in before I can process what is going on.
I am getting ready to freak out for real, when the cutest little Korean girl comes over and looks at me. She must have been 2 or 3...cute as a button...and she proceeds to grin at me and giggle...because, lets face it, I look ridiculous. She wanders back over a few times and for some reason it distracts me enough to keep me from gnawing myself free and running into the streets.
Finally, the lady comes over, and begins to free me from the hair octopus. But then she places this bed pan looking thing on my shoulders and squirts some smelly gunk on my head. I have been here for hours already...what it world is going on with my head...at this point my hair as received more attention in one afternoon than it has in the past year...maybe even 2 or 3 years.
After the smelly stuff sits, they wash my hair again (this is my third hair washing of the afternoon) and finally take me to a styling chair. Two (yes, two) people arm themselves with hair dryers. The chemist tells me that my hair has a “natural elegance” but assures me that this will be even better. In less than 10 minutes my hair is styled into these gorgeous waves. It looks damn good, if I do say so...a bit more “Kpop star” and less “girl who can’t be bothered to use a hair dryer.” It’s different than my normal hair, but not dramatically so...I am still entirely recognizable as myself, just a bit more fancy.
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