So, after 2 months of washing my hair with a combinaton campsoap and head n shoulders coupled with massive amounts of dust, it´s in pretty bad shape. Side-show bob shape. So, just like my break down with the jeans and the shirts, I broke down. I´ve decided that since I have returned to civilization (made extreemly obvious by the Curves for women I passed today)I would get my first South American haircut.
I figured it couldn´t be as bad as my hair modeling experience... a nearsighted five yearold with scizors couldn´t be as bad as my hair modeling experience.
At first I had thought I would just walk into a place (an actual salon had haircuts for just 40 pesos, so it wouldn´t really cost me that much) the problem here is that I don´t speak hair-cutting spanish. They haven´t covered that aspect of everyday life in my class yet. I´m sure it will be tomorrow. Yesterday they taught us how to have the "I´m on a diet conversation"...
"why aren´t you eating your chocolate cake?"
"Oh, I´m on a diet. I´ve got to loose 10kilos (22lbs!)."
"Really?... I think you look great."
Apparently, this is a common converstion here (I´m sure it couldn´t have anything to do with the diet of ice cream and steak) The only thing that would have made it better was if it had ended, "no those jeans don´t make you look fat"
But, anyway, back to the issue of the hair cut and how to get them not to shave my head... I asked the front desk and they informed me that there was a studio where the hair dressers spoke english. Huh, solves that problem. I jumped on it.
I gave them a call and made an appointment for 4 o´clock. After being told my hair was far to dry (in broken enlish... I tried to explain the campsoap/Boliva aspects of my hair care, but I think the subtle nuances were lost) I was given a mask (this is a first) told I should get high-lights (hell no) and sat under some type of steamy bubble thing (another first) asked if i needed a manacure (love one, but no) and whether or not I had eaten lunch (I´m not sure had I said no if I would get lunch, or how this played in at all, so I jut said yes) Ten or fifteen minutes later, little beads of sweat dripping down my somewhat sun burn nose (damn doxycycline) I was lead to the cutting chair.
How did I want my hair cut? This is always where I run into problems. Frankly, I just get lazy and don´t want to explain what I want. I always put too much trust in the ability of the hairdresser to read my mind (I should know by know that this rairly works) and my usual response to the question is "just make it healthy." Esscentially, I give them the green light.
When the hair starts falling I always question this approach. The idea I started with, that it´ll always grow back, starts to not sound quite as appealing. I begin to think about the amazing array of mullets I´ve been noticing... apparently a current argentinan trend and hope that is just popular for guys. I begin to pray my hairdresser won´t start experimenting on me. Lord knows last years "graduated bob with tendrals" was a disaster.
As he starts to thin my hair using some type of technique which removes long strands while making a horrible tearing sound the anguish and fear must have been beginning to show on my face. I was asked multiple times if everything was ok... was I alright with this. For some reason I decide to fake it and say yes, hopeing that he actually does know what he is doing. I will trust him.
Long story short, its all OK. I am mullet free (thank god) and it´s actually a pretty good cut. Shorter and curly (this can hide mostly anything) I´m ok with it. Now, I might really splurge and go and buy some conditioner... and maybe some mascara...
