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A "Hair-Razing" Hour
Today is Haircut Day.
I've been getting tired of my old haircut lately and was trying to summon up enough courage to go for a hairstyle change. Today was the day. After inspecting my limited choices in Century Square, I finally picked Monsoon over SuperCuts (I think the Sri Nada uncle is miffed at me) because well, it was slightly cheaper. Fine. I'm a cheapskate. But $40 bucks for a cut is not in the works just yet. Not until I command an awesome paycheck or become a gong gong (the male equivalent of tai tai).
My Fish-Out-of-Water act started almost the moment I stepped up to the reception counter. I think I must have shocked the nail polish out of the attendant when I mentioned "creative director" and "no appointment" in the same breath. Actually I fumbled at the term "creative director", since it sounded more like a hotshot executive in Microsoft rather than a hairdresser at the local mall. But the point was, after the attendant finished her mental snickering, she politely told me that the creative director was out for lunch, which I gather is a polite way of saying "no appointment no cut, so sod off". I know these things okay? I Not Stupid.
Anyhow, I was led to this designer seat and a piece of cloth was handed to me. It took me 3 attempts at wearing it before I realized that it was a robe rather than a half body sarong that the Sri Nada uncles are found of using. I think the attendant is still chuckling at me. After I managed to struggle into the robe like a Neantherdal ape, a female hairdresser, I'm sorry - Senior Hairstylist, cracked her knuckles, wielded her deadly weapons and strutted over to mess with my hair. Literally. The first thing she did was to stab her fingers into my hair to give me the just-woke-up-sexy look (except I looked just-got-mugged-desperate instead). We then had a brief exchange where I let her know my expectations. After 3 minutes, we had an agreement. It was established that I, the typical fashion idiot geek, should just sit there and let the pros do their jobs.
The session itself was pretty uneventful and almost pleasant since I dozed on and off. Short of being prodded along to the wash basin twice for a shampoo and rinse, I basically nodded off in the designer chair. I can't understand the female compulsion to bond with their hairdressers. I either a) sit there and worry that the scissors will slip and embed itself in my exposed jugular or b) sit there and worry that the shaver will pull a Mike Tyson and chomp off the tip of my ear or c) doze. If I'd tried to be friendly with the hairstylist, she'd probably shave me botak just to warn me off.
The unveiling was pretty shocking to me. Without any styling, the haircut looked decent enough. Not too similar to my old ubergeek hairdo but not startling enough to make me a geek ah beng. But man, when the haistylist applied the clay (I goofed up here when I asked if she was using wax and received a you-can't-tell-the-difference-between-wax-and-clay?! look {in the comfort of my own domain in front of my laptop, I can now say: Bite Me} ) to make certain parts spike, my hairdo immediately looked like something you'd see on a model. The mismatch with my face was, needless to say, hilarious. I swear her hands wobbled with suppressed mirth when she was styling my hair.
After the cut, it was a test of courage to actually walk around Century Square as if the almost-funky hairstyle was not new and alien to me. It's sort of like walking around in neon underwear and see-through pants, if you get my drift.
Alas, the spikes flattened themselves by the time I got home, leading to my dad to yell "$20 for that?! How come you don't go to that barber shop across the road!" and to ask the heavens why his son is so loose with money. Maybe I should send him to the hairstylists as revenge.
I've been getting tired of my old haircut lately and was trying to summon up enough courage to go for a hairstyle change. Today was the day. After inspecting my limited choices in Century Square, I finally picked Monsoon over SuperCuts (I think the Sri Nada uncle is miffed at me) because well, it was slightly cheaper. Fine. I'm a cheapskate. But $40 bucks for a cut is not in the works just yet. Not until I command an awesome paycheck or become a gong gong (the male equivalent of tai tai).
My Fish-Out-of-Water act started almost the moment I stepped up to the reception counter. I think I must have shocked the nail polish out of the attendant when I mentioned "creative director" and "no appointment" in the same breath. Actually I fumbled at the term "creative director", since it sounded more like a hotshot executive in Microsoft rather than a hairdresser at the local mall. But the point was, after the attendant finished her mental snickering, she politely told me that the creative director was out for lunch, which I gather is a polite way of saying "no appointment no cut, so sod off". I know these things okay? I Not Stupid.
Anyhow, I was led to this designer seat and a piece of cloth was handed to me. It took me 3 attempts at wearing it before I realized that it was a robe rather than a half body sarong that the Sri Nada uncles are found of using. I think the attendant is still chuckling at me. After I managed to struggle into the robe like a Neantherdal ape, a female hairdresser, I'm sorry - Senior Hairstylist, cracked her knuckles, wielded her deadly weapons and strutted over to mess with my hair. Literally. The first thing she did was to stab her fingers into my hair to give me the just-woke-up-sexy look (except I looked just-got-mugged-desperate instead). We then had a brief exchange where I let her know my expectations. After 3 minutes, we had an agreement. It was established that I, the typical fashion idiot geek, should just sit there and let the pros do their jobs.
The session itself was pretty uneventful and almost pleasant since I dozed on and off. Short of being prodded along to the wash basin twice for a shampoo and rinse, I basically nodded off in the designer chair. I can't understand the female compulsion to bond with their hairdressers. I either a) sit there and worry that the scissors will slip and embed itself in my exposed jugular or b) sit there and worry that the shaver will pull a Mike Tyson and chomp off the tip of my ear or c) doze. If I'd tried to be friendly with the hairstylist, she'd probably shave me botak just to warn me off.
The unveiling was pretty shocking to me. Without any styling, the haircut looked decent enough. Not too similar to my old ubergeek hairdo but not startling enough to make me a geek ah beng. But man, when the haistylist applied the clay (I goofed up here when I asked if she was using wax and received a you-can't-tell-the-difference-between-wax-and-clay?! look {in the comfort of my own domain in front of my laptop, I can now say: Bite Me} ) to make certain parts spike, my hairdo immediately looked like something you'd see on a model. The mismatch with my face was, needless to say, hilarious. I swear her hands wobbled with suppressed mirth when she was styling my hair.
After the cut, it was a test of courage to actually walk around Century Square as if the almost-funky hairstyle was not new and alien to me. It's sort of like walking around in neon underwear and see-through pants, if you get my drift.
Alas, the spikes flattened themselves by the time I got home, leading to my dad to yell "$20 for that?! How come you don't go to that barber shop across the road!" and to ask the heavens why his son is so loose with money. Maybe I should send him to the hairstylists as revenge.
3 Comments
You also have to get used to styling your hair back the way they styled it for you. That took quite awhile for me and when I finally got the hang of it, there's no turning back.
You mentioned clay, I suggest you use this Loreal product.. it's a fibre putty thingy.. it actually says fibre putty in the description. It's healthier for your hair. But it's also $2 more expensive than Gatsby clay or wax.
Seriously, when you go for the $20 haircut and buy a styling product, $2 difference isn't much and one bottle will last you half a year and more.
If you still decide to use Gatsby stuff (I do) do remember to buy a shampoo for oily hair.. you'll need it to wash the stuff cleanly off your hair.
And always apply in small amounts.
And I sort of forgot how they did it, which was why you said it looked normal. I basically wet it, dumped gel, slicked it back that's it. end of morning routine :)
Of course, I am floored by your comparison shopping. >.< Knowing your complicated ex-hairstyle, I guess I should be huh. Heh heh.
My gel is running out though, so a trip down to watson's is in order. I'll go look at the Loreal thingy. Should be interesting :)
Sorry I didn't have much time to talk today. Was a bit flustered. You caught me at the end of a 8 hr, no break day! (plus i was up till don't know what time writing a #$%@#$ decoder)
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