Monday, April 3, 2017

A nice Parisian haircut for free

It was my day off and I needed a nice haircut for free. Paris hair stylists are trend-setters and local hair salons regularly give trainings for hair-dressers coming from other parts of France or even from abroad. They are constantly in need of models for their training sessions and, therefore, offer free cuts for those who can stay at least two hours in a hairdresser’s chair. That’s how I have had my hair done for free several times and I have been more than satisfied with the results.
   This time I chose a salon that trains Japanese hair professionals in the latest Parisian technics. The hair salon was bright with ancient wood beams on the walls and ceiling. We were about twelve women of all ages in the waiting room where the trainees could pick a model of their choice. My natural hair was chosen among the first ones. I sat down with other models in a barber’s cape. The trainer was a French hair-dresser dressed all in black, except for his red leather boots.
The Japanese crew didn’t speak anything but Japanese so there was a translator who told them what the trainer said. The Japanese trainees were also all in black, as was the barber’s cape and even the bath towels. The man who had chosen my head was bold and wearing eye-glasses that looked like diving glasses. All I wanted was a nice new head and it could be done without chatting. I told the translator what kind of cut I was looking for. By their violent gesticulating I already understood that my Japanese hairdresser’s idea of my head was quite different from mine. Anyhow, he’s the artist. Better let him keep his idea, I thought. Soon some blond curls dropped on the floor.

Roman army attacking barbarians
They played Queens’s Bohemian Rhapsody as background music. My Japanese hairdresser got caught by a creative fever. He had a wild look in his eyes. He pushed and pulled my head in an almost violent way when cutting. I had hair hanging over my eyes now and I couldn’t go on typing. The man acted more like a sculptor than a barber. He seemingly enjoyed touching the material he didn’t have on his own head any more. Other Japanese hairdressers gathered one by one around us. My hairdresser was the only man among the trainees. I understood by the fragmentary sentences of the translator that he disagreed with the French trainer. Other Japanese trainees raised their voices and one of them touched my hair. The trainer took a marker pen and drew circles on the mirror, which he then split in different slices. My hairdresser snatched the pen from his hands and drew more slices but also arrows. It was like they were preparing the Roman army to attack barbarians. The Japanese trainees were almost yelling now and pointing their scissors and sharp tail combs in the air. No doubt a war was taking place over my head. I couldn’t believe all this was only because of my hair.  
   Thank goodness it was time to order their Sushi for lunch and they calmed down. Brushing took place in a more Zen atmosphere. My new hair cut was gorgeous! No doubt the war had been won. Once in the street I was surprised to see the world going around like before, since for the last two hours my hair had been the most important matter. 

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