A Private Salon
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I think my salon's name is Hair Grotto or something like that. I don't even know; I just followed my Sharise there when she changed salons. After moving to Hong Kong, Sharise was the first hairdresser to not butcher my hair, so I decided to stick with her forever.
Having longer hair is kind of fun (much better for headbanging) but last week, I started feeling scruffy and uncomfortable. That's when I know it's time for my bi-annual scolding for letting my hair grow out too much.
I thought the Hair Grotto looked unusually empty as I mounted the dimly lit stairs, and when I walked in, the place looked abandoned. That's when it hit me; you're not supposed to get your hair cut during Chinese New Year. Oops. I'm not very good at following traditions, apparently. The secretary gamely led me to the even more abandoned back room for a hair-washing and a long wait in the very large room, alone. I stared at the rows of empty chairs around me. To think I had been worried about booking so late.
Sharise walked through the dark door and welcomed me like usual. I did remember to whip out a red packet and carefully presented it with both hands. If there's one tradition to remember, the lai see one is it.
After we got through the preliminary scolding, Sharise settled down to cut my hair. She complimented me on my hair color, which I thought was interesting. Hong Kongers seem to like my hair color. Or at least quite a few locals have asked me if I dye my hair (I don't) and where they can get that color (ask my mom). On the other hand, a few of my foreign friends have asked me what happened to my blonde hair and why I don't dye it blonde again.
My hair gave up on being blonde shortly after college. Well, it might have been in college, but at that point I was more ambiguous. Was I dark blonde or light brown? During orientation week at college, we played one of those games where you all stand on a paper plate and someone will yell "yellow shirt" or "glasses" and then anyone in a yellow shirt or glasses would have to switch plates. That always left me confused if they chose hair color. What was I?
I finally polled my Facebook friends to figure out my true color! But I found no answers; it was a draw between dark blonde and light brown. Thankfully now I'm fully in the light brown camp, but if I'm in the sun enough I can get blonde whispers of my past.
I have thought about dyeing my hair. A lot of my friends have lovely blue locks or trendy reddish waves. For that matter, black is a great color. And I have dyed my hair before (purple in high school, blue in college). Maybe I will again, but I keep hearing one of my former roommates saying, "Natural hair is so beautiful. You can't get the nuance of natural hair with a dye."
Totally true. But then again she did have a mohawk....
Sharise finally finished my cut. She held up the mirror while I grabbed for my glasses. If you're as blind as me, the end product is always a surprise. I smiled and nodded. Looked good. Just like the last time.
As I gathered my things and waved goodbye, Sharise called after me, "You need to cut your hair more often. See you in March!"
Sure. See you in six months.
I think my salon's name is Hair Grotto or something like that. I don't even know; I just followed my Sharise there when she changed salons. After moving to Hong Kong, Sharise was the first hairdresser to not butcher my hair, so I decided to stick with her forever.
Having longer hair is kind of fun (much better for headbanging) but last week, I started feeling scruffy and uncomfortable. That's when I know it's time for my bi-annual scolding for letting my hair grow out too much.
I thought the Hair Grotto looked unusually empty as I mounted the dimly lit stairs, and when I walked in, the place looked abandoned. That's when it hit me; you're not supposed to get your hair cut during Chinese New Year. Oops. I'm not very good at following traditions, apparently. The secretary gamely led me to the even more abandoned back room for a hair-washing and a long wait in the very large room, alone. I stared at the rows of empty chairs around me. To think I had been worried about booking so late.
Sharise walked through the dark door and welcomed me like usual. I did remember to whip out a red packet and carefully presented it with both hands. If there's one tradition to remember, the lai see one is it.
After we got through the preliminary scolding, Sharise settled down to cut my hair. She complimented me on my hair color, which I thought was interesting. Hong Kongers seem to like my hair color. Or at least quite a few locals have asked me if I dye my hair (I don't) and where they can get that color (ask my mom). On the other hand, a few of my foreign friends have asked me what happened to my blonde hair and why I don't dye it blonde again.
My hair gave up on being blonde shortly after college. Well, it might have been in college, but at that point I was more ambiguous. Was I dark blonde or light brown? During orientation week at college, we played one of those games where you all stand on a paper plate and someone will yell "yellow shirt" or "glasses" and then anyone in a yellow shirt or glasses would have to switch plates. That always left me confused if they chose hair color. What was I?
I finally polled my Facebook friends to figure out my true color! But I found no answers; it was a draw between dark blonde and light brown. Thankfully now I'm fully in the light brown camp, but if I'm in the sun enough I can get blonde whispers of my past.
I have thought about dyeing my hair. A lot of my friends have lovely blue locks or trendy reddish waves. For that matter, black is a great color. And I have dyed my hair before (purple in high school, blue in college). Maybe I will again, but I keep hearing one of my former roommates saying, "Natural hair is so beautiful. You can't get the nuance of natural hair with a dye."
Totally true. But then again she did have a mohawk....
Sharise finally finished my cut. She held up the mirror while I grabbed for my glasses. If you're as blind as me, the end product is always a surprise. I smiled and nodded. Looked good. Just like the last time.
As I gathered my things and waved goodbye, Sharise called after me, "You need to cut your hair more often. See you in March!"
Sure. See you in six months.
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