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Published: November 9th 2006
Since I left Malaysia at the end of August sporting a not very nicely cut growth of hair, it was not a difficult decision to let it grow out. As most women and some men know, finding a decent hairdresser with experience minus the pomp is not easy. The saloon may look impressive, the music hitting the nerves just right and the stylist, well, stylishly garbed... it does not mean that the one holding the scissors knows how to cut your hair to suit your face or manage your type of hair for that matter. Not everyone is a Ian Wright or an Andre Agassi who doesn't need to be in the mercy of x-blades.
2.5 months of growing it out, my mane began to resemble a rattan mop. So Quito the lucky city chosen has to put up with a lone Cina looking for a place to regain her dignity. Without my trusty spanish-english dictionary with me, I mumble some words of needing a haircut (I did not know the word for trim) at the hairdressers. The stylist sits me down and asks a few more questions, none of which I grasped and before I know it, her assistant shoves a hair book in my face and begins to point out styles she thinks would suit me. Thank you for the invention of pictures and magazines! Although she wanted to give me a shaggy bob cut, being on the road, I didn't want to risk having to manage something that only Jennifer Aniston could carry off. I had to settle for something as close to what I have at the moment, reluctantly. So in the end after the cut, fingers crossed throughout, and style (blown into a big bob which I hate), Si Gusto? is replied with 'si!' Who was I to complain? I should have been better prepared with Spanish!
Over and out,
San
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Jules
non-member comment
Picture?
Chicca cina, you need to take a picture of the folicle faux pas so the rest of us can laugh at your outing at the hair dressers!!!