It Was Time

I’ve had the same hair cut for 5 years, ok 6, ok 8 or 9. Ok, my whole life except for when I was a child and my father cut my hair himself into the Chinese-bob, complete with v-shaped bangs that started in the back of my head.

I had been wanting to cut my hair since I came to China. One, because I’ve had it the same forever, and there’s nothing like being in a new place to make you want to try a new do. Two, because there’s nothing like being in a place where no one knows you help you anxiety about taking a risk. When my friend told me that she’d gotten a haircut at a place in Woudaokou where there were two English-speaking people, I knew I had no more excuses. Erica, my ever-useful and helpful Chinese-speaking friend, agreed to come with. This turned out to be an incredibly useful amenity, as I never saw the English-speaking workers that had led me there.

The place was impressive. It was all new and shiny, with white walls and light-up mirrors. Everyone who worked there looked like they had just stepped off the set of a reality TV show for hair stylists. Chinese men are already bordering the metro-side of the spectrum, but these boys were hugging the end, with their spikey gel-styles and frosted tips.

Erica used my head as a prop as she explained the style that I wanted, longer in the front and going shorter towards the back, but not so short she had to buzz my hair. She asked if I wore my hair in a ponytail, and I said I was fine if it was too short for that, as I usually wore it down.

While she was cutting, however, she told Erica that she had asked because my hair, “has a wave in it, and it’s not pretty.” This led her to suggest that I get a “treatment” that would keep it straight. She suggested one that was 200Y ($30) or one that was 400Y ($60). Erica asked about the difference between the two, and was told that the 200Y was “a little terrible.” I was ready to spring for the “expensive” stuff, (especially since my hair cut was $5), when the hairdresser changed her mind and recommended the “little terrible” treatment for my “standards.”

The “treatment”, I’m pretty sure, ended up being that they relaxed my hair so that it would curl under.

In America, I’ve always had quote unquote Asian hair. It’s slippery and straight, and stubbornly resistant to curling. Apparently in Asia I have black hair. Awesome.
Everyone else in the salon was fluffing up their hair. The 80’s are IN right now in China. The girl next to me had crazy medusa, electroshock-treatment-style curlers, where each one was connected to a wire and plugged into a machine behind her head.
This may be the reason that all of my student’s parents said that my hair makes me look “much, much younger.” At my publishing party on Friday, one mother even commented that I look “just like a teenager.”

Exactly as I planned.