French Hair

I've been growing my hair out for a couple of years now. It's finally getting to the length that I generally start considering hacking it all off every time I pull a handful out of my shower drain and realize that I've put it back in a pony tail for the past ten days straight. This time though, I promised myself that I was going to go for substantial, impressive even, never been achieved-by-me before length. I've felt the temptation to whip out the scissors already, especially in August when the Mediterranean humidity stuck the majority of it to the back of my neck, but the embarrassing hunk of cash I handed over a year ago to have my hair chemically straighten has strengthened my resolve to not waste hair this expensive. I figured it was also the prefect time as I could save on expensive haircuts while I was studying abroad. Just the same, every three months I religiously have my split ends trimmed and my layers cleaned up and re-evened out.

Having seen the same woman in Bozeman for over two years, who does fabulous things to my hair, I was a little nervous about putting my precious strands into the hands of someone new. Someone new who doesn't speak English to boot, and as my hair vocab in French is lacking and not in my dictionary, I've been dragging my feet. But I couldn't take the frizz anymore and finally picked, at random, a nice looking, not to expensive salon with a student discount in the nice part of town. I made an appointment, telling the man that I was interested only in a trim.

On Wednesday I relaxed a little as the hair washing girl massaged my scalp with delicious almond smelling shampoo. Sitting in the chair I began to explain to my stylist that I have very long layers and I wanted them trimmed as well, but under no circumstances was he to take off a lot, I'm growing it out. Oui. The only place I have more layers is around my face. He nods knowingly, oui oui, to soften the face. Now starts the casual conversation: Where are you from? Why are you here? You must be a student, yes? It was then I should have known. Les Etats-Unis? Oh my favorite movie is Legally Blonde! Do you know it? Is it really true, do the really have houses full of dumb blond girls at university there? Meanwhile he is combing my hair out from the top and in the process creating the biggest knot I've ever seen at the end of my hair. Ok, now tilt your head back At this point my hair has been pulled straight up, taller than Marge Simpson's blue afro, ending in The Knot. Seeing my look of concern, he mummers Don't worry... and out comes the razor and ziiiipppp there goes The Knot and a good three inches of my hair. He waves it so I can see it in the mirror and laughs, See you're hair is still long...and look at the layers...no worries... Breath deeply I tell myself, the layers aren't toooo long and it will grow. But he's parting my hair, somewhere near my left ear, and attacking my face with a vengeance. snip snip snipsnipsnip He's suddenly taken over 10" from around my face. Not so high! I exclaim, but too late. Bangs. I have bangs. Daaaammmmmn-it! Out flies the mousse, the hair dryer, the round brush, the styling gel and suddenly I should be in Legally Blond. It looked fine when he finished aside from the fact I suddenly belonged in Delta Gamma, but it was not what I wanted! In addition, I don't have a blow dryer, a flat-iron and forget the round brush and hair products. I know full well from experience that the reason I don't get this kind of hair cut is because when I get out of the shower in the morning I wrap it in a towel and then let it be. Haircuts like this require TLC, they require "product" and, well, time. Forget it. This is why I got my hair straightened in the first place; I don't have to do more than run a brush through it when I leave the house.

I guess life is full of experiences and I just had my "My Haircut in a Foreign Country Experience". It will be funny in six months when I can see again (it took me two days to just write about it) and the layers have grown out enough to catch up with the rest of my, now thin, hair. Oh well, at least it's not totally gone, and after all, it is just hair... I know, I know. But still, I'm not exactly excited about looking like the bastard daughter of Cousin It and a lion for the rest of the year, nor do I wish to buy a blow dryer. Sigh. Oh France, what am I going to do with you?