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| ignore the time stamp, this is from Hursday |
All through college and much of high school, I had my hair pretty short and life was good. A little wash, a little gel and I was fit to be seen in public. No getting my scalp ripped off by the boom vang either.
But now, living in inland Spain, I've had the opportunity to experiment with long hair. It turns out that, like make up and fashion, I seem to have missed the part of my childhood where you learn about these things. I was reading Ender's Game instead. What I've learned from this long hair experiment:
1. Ponytails are tricky but easier than holding your hair out of your face with your hands.
2. Braids are nearly impossible, requiring superhuman endurance, dexterity and patience. It's not the under-over pattern, (Heck, I can bust out one of these bad boys in less time than it takes to braid that mess) but keeping the clumps of hair separate from the other clumps of hair; that is difficult. Curse you, hair clumps!
3. Washing every day is a bad idea. This goes against everything I learned in health class, but I just don't have two hours every morning to blow dry my hair. In Galicia, you must blow dry or it will never dry.
4. "Looking nice" is as easy as doing nothing. Just leave the ponytail thingy at home and spend the evening holding your hair out of your face with your hands! You're beautiful!
But Meghan! It sounds like you don't like long hair at all! Haha, me. You're wrong. I just like to complain.
And speaking of complaining, let's talk about getting haircuts.
In college, I averaged about one cut every three months or so. If I wasn't forced to get a new cut while visiting the padres, I pretty exclusively went to this little hair salon next to the Fred Meyer that was run by this little old woman who I think was Greek, or maybe Italian. One of those countries whose civilization peaked a couple thousand years ago.
My Greek lady wasn't the best stylist, and I'm sure there were cheaper options, but she did have the benefit of not speaking English very well. I would say "shorter" and she would go to work. No asking if I want "layers" or "feathering" or "magic waxy goop that'll make me look great for ten minutes and then leave me feeling inadequate until the next haircut". No small talk with someone whose life revolves around hair and fashion (It appears we are both wearing clothes. How interesting. And hair. I have hair, and you have hair as well. Isn't that a coincidence?)
I thought that getting a haircut in Spain would be a similar experience--getting out of the small talk thanks to language barriers. And, since there is a barber school at my high school (which is more like a combination high school/community college) I figured I would just drop in one day after class.
Which I did on Thursday. And I remembered the other reasons I don't like getting haircuts. Mainly it's the whole "strangers touching my head and pulling my hair" thing. I've come a long way since I was younger, but still I'm thinking "I don't know you, what're you doing near my face with scissors?" It doesn't help that the scissors are the only thing close enough to my cummy eyes (see reading) for me to see.
It turned out that I had forgotten all about the questions part of the ordeal. And while my Spanish is good enough to understand what you're asking me, I still don't know what I want you to do. You're the stylist! Just do some styling, I dunno. Shorter? Yes. Layers? Okay. ¿más liso o más volumen? ¿...Sí? The one question that really threw me for a loop was "how do you comb your hair?" Is... is there more than one way? I thought down was the only option, but now I'm questioning myself. Have I been combing my hair the wrong way my whole life? What else have I been doing wrong this whole time!?
All in all it wasn't that bad. Not the best haircut ever, but for three euros (about four bucks) it was worth it. Even the minor existential crisis.
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