The Hair Appointment
First and foremost, my Lyme is acting up, which means that the entire bus trip and subway ride to Hongdae are both discomfiting. Lyme comes in waves sometimes, and it makes me wants to stay in bed nursing my aching body into some sort of equilibrium. The hair appointment has been made, though, and I can't stand to cancel and keep looking like the same me for another week. It's a funny thing. With everything around me and inside me maintaining a state of flux, it follows that something physical and semi permanent needs to change, too. Hence, the hair appointment and the 50 minute subway ride to Hongdae.
When I arrive, I cannot find the hair salon. I walk up one side of the street, then cross and walk up the otherside. No luck, even with directions a friend gave me. A clown on stilts smiles down at me, holding out an orange balloon flower. I smile back, take the flower, and proceed to get directions.
The Hair and Joy salon is full of other expats, which is a good sign. My hair stylist, Johnny, greets me, and we discuss what I want done: blonde highlights and a short, layered bob with side bangs. He is confident we can do the style, and then asks me if my brown hair is natural.
"Yes, of course it's natural," I say. The last time I dyed it, I was fourteen and doing a play. It's surely outgrown since then.
Johnny fetches his assistant, a tallish Korean man, and they go to work, first cutting off a lot of the bottom half of my hair and then starting the dyeing process. This consists of spreading some sort of white blue liquid on sections of hair before folding it into tinfoil. By the end of it, my head is growing strange, silvery squares in all directions with strands of dark brown hair sticking out in a poof-y mess. Somewhere in some sci-fi world an alien princess is wishing her hair could look this good.
I wait for what seems an age, sneaking glances at the hair cuts progressing around me while pretending to read the Elle magazine my Korean salon guy has provided. He also brings me a drink, then fiddles with a foil on one side of my head. He closes it after a long stare, and hurries off. A few moments later, Johnny returns and opens up one of the crinkly packages as well. He makes a strange sound.
"You are sure you haven't dyed your hair recently?" he asks.
I suddenly remember a black henna wash I did back at the beginning of June. My hair was darker for maybe a month afterwards. I mention this, but say it has surely washed out since then.
"No, henna can do very permanent things to your hair, even if it fades," Johnny tells me.
Oh. So, what does this mean? They take the tinfoil off my hair and I have my answer in the form of blue-green tinted ash blonde hair. I look a little like Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle, though not in a good way. Johnny and his assistant take me to the sink and begin conferring in Korean, passing bottles over my head, and applying several different liquids to my hair. Johnny's assistant gives me one of the most thorough washes I have ever had. I just sit there with my head in the sink, looking up at the sky painted ceiling and wondering why on earth I had to ask for blonde hair.
Johnny does his best. The haircut itself looks wonderful. The blue green look fades a little after the washing, and the ash blonde looks a bit better. Despite all my smiles and positivity, Johnny knows I am not completely satisfied, though.
"If you don't like it, just come back in a couple of days, and we'll work on it," he says. I pay for the appointment, and tell him I will see him next weekend.
Now, on my balcony in Guri, I tilt my head and run my hands through my short hair. I can't help giggling, really. I wanted to look so grown up and sophisticated when I came out of that appointment, and in reality I look more like an anime character. Oh well. If I turn a certain way, the sun shining through my hair has a strange, otherworldly look to it. I kind of like it. Bet that alien princess is still wishing her hair could look like mine.
When I arrive, I cannot find the hair salon. I walk up one side of the street, then cross and walk up the otherside. No luck, even with directions a friend gave me. A clown on stilts smiles down at me, holding out an orange balloon flower. I smile back, take the flower, and proceed to get directions.
The Hair and Joy salon is full of other expats, which is a good sign. My hair stylist, Johnny, greets me, and we discuss what I want done: blonde highlights and a short, layered bob with side bangs. He is confident we can do the style, and then asks me if my brown hair is natural.
"Yes, of course it's natural," I say. The last time I dyed it, I was fourteen and doing a play. It's surely outgrown since then.
Johnny fetches his assistant, a tallish Korean man, and they go to work, first cutting off a lot of the bottom half of my hair and then starting the dyeing process. This consists of spreading some sort of white blue liquid on sections of hair before folding it into tinfoil. By the end of it, my head is growing strange, silvery squares in all directions with strands of dark brown hair sticking out in a poof-y mess. Somewhere in some sci-fi world an alien princess is wishing her hair could look this good.
I wait for what seems an age, sneaking glances at the hair cuts progressing around me while pretending to read the Elle magazine my Korean salon guy has provided. He also brings me a drink, then fiddles with a foil on one side of my head. He closes it after a long stare, and hurries off. A few moments later, Johnny returns and opens up one of the crinkly packages as well. He makes a strange sound.
"You are sure you haven't dyed your hair recently?" he asks.
I suddenly remember a black henna wash I did back at the beginning of June. My hair was darker for maybe a month afterwards. I mention this, but say it has surely washed out since then.
"No, henna can do very permanent things to your hair, even if it fades," Johnny tells me.
Oh. So, what does this mean? They take the tinfoil off my hair and I have my answer in the form of blue-green tinted ash blonde hair. I look a little like Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle, though not in a good way. Johnny and his assistant take me to the sink and begin conferring in Korean, passing bottles over my head, and applying several different liquids to my hair. Johnny's assistant gives me one of the most thorough washes I have ever had. I just sit there with my head in the sink, looking up at the sky painted ceiling and wondering why on earth I had to ask for blonde hair.
Johnny does his best. The haircut itself looks wonderful. The blue green look fades a little after the washing, and the ash blonde looks a bit better. Despite all my smiles and positivity, Johnny knows I am not completely satisfied, though.
"If you don't like it, just come back in a couple of days, and we'll work on it," he says. I pay for the appointment, and tell him I will see him next weekend.
Now, on my balcony in Guri, I tilt my head and run my hands through my short hair. I can't help giggling, really. I wanted to look so grown up and sophisticated when I came out of that appointment, and in reality I look more like an anime character. Oh well. If I turn a certain way, the sun shining through my hair has a strange, otherworldly look to it. I kind of like it. Bet that alien princess is still wishing her hair could look like mine.
Comments
Post a Comment