My hair's never been so tousled in its life! No zeese way, no look zat way! I just returned from my second hair cut in Beijing at the Eric Paris Salon in Sanlitun Village. Voila! I'm a new woman. Well, I'm a new woman at least until I have to wash my hair tomorrow morning and I try styling my short 'do myself.
Upon two separate recommendations I chose this particular salon; one from a friend back at Princeton who was in Beijing three years ago, the other a pre-departure suggestion from my mother who's extensive internet searching and googling always produces superior results. The thing is I am supposed to have no muss, no fuss super short hair. But the downside to never having to buy hair bands for lovely long locks is the upkeep. Every five weeks for a cut is usually my routine, but I've been stretching it to eight weeks in Beijing at 445 RMB a cut (around $70 which is double what I pay at home). I found out when making today's appointment that the first woman who cut my hair just moved back to Paris after eight years in Beijing. That makes two people in the past eleven years who have cut my hair, both of whom are now very, very far away. So I said "au revoir!" to Waiba, and today was prepared to meet Caroline.
When you enter the salon you are greeted not by hair products and nail polish odors, but by twinkling trinkets, baubles and shiny eye-catching jewels. Power through it, the salon is located on the building's second floor - a bright, open and clean space. There are lots of staff standing about at the ready to offer a drink, a magazine or an invitation to the grand opening of it's adjoining jewelry shop through which you just entered (this Thursday night if anyone is interested). The trendy space is filled also with a mix of French pop music and Pottery Barn soundtracks gently soothing patrons into beautified states of bliss. I always feel a bit awkward in salons that are hyper-aware of their own artistry - I don't always need someone to put the salon robe on for me and tie the belt, I can do that myself. But, I play along because that's how it goes when one is being pampered. Lots of fussing meant that my hair was washed twice by two different women - pre and post cut. Then it was dried by another woman before it was to be styled by someone else!
So, there I was, in my assigned chair with my cup of chrysanthemum tea and an English language Cosmo magazine, waiting for Caroline. And then suddenly, a pair of man's hands were scrunching and smooshing and twirling this way and that atop my mop. I was fated to by sculpted by the man himself. Caroline, it turns out, is sick today, so I was in the hands of the Eric of Eric Paris. My first thought was, "shit! Do I have enough cash for this?" The salon hierarchy means the more titles to your name the costlier the cut. What's the going rate for "Salon Owner and Creative Director" these days? My third and fourth thoughts melted away as I was getting my hair washed and my head massaged while scents of jasmine and honeysuckle wafted over me at the row of sinks.
Back in my chair, there were a few questions exchanged, something about "It will be my inspiration!" from Eric, some normal pleasantries, and then the master went to work. Hmmm? What's that? I didn't quite catch what it was that was going to inspire him. He is a no-nonsense sort of French fellow. In his element he is serious about his movements, the scissors bouncing around my head like a scene from Edward Scissorhands at one point. I tried unsuccessfully to maintain a modicum of sophistication while dodging the artillery of newly cut hairs falling onto my face, flying up my nose, sticking onto my glossed lips, poking me in my eyes. Don't move! I thought. I quickly learned that if he wanted me to move my head, he would do it for me.
After about 45 minutes he was determined to make me aware that I can wear my hair in other ways than just "flat and straight." "Eef you want, you can scrrrunch it up zeez way!" "Why not wear it meh-zee, not always so plain?!" I was even instructed to style my hair how I normally would, and then he mussed that up and showed me how to do it the funkier French way. Or is it the Beijing way? No matter. As long as it's not Jersey high-hair. Trying to avoid stereotypes here, even with a pixie cut.
Toward the end of the styling session, post-cut, post-mousse, pre-adjustments with the scissors again, there was a surprising "puff" of powered hair product sprinkled onto my head and my general vicinity. My new haircut was revealed only after the white styling cloud of "Osis Dust It Mattifying Powder" dissipated. How magical! I love new hair products - I've got to get myself some of this stuff! Who doesn't want to step out of a heavenly cloud of beauty product each morning?
Next time: highlights.
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| zeez is too much meh-zee for moi! |
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| scruunch! |
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| hmmm? |
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| that's a bit better |
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