A Patch of Auburn
A patch of auburn - this is what my hair color looks like these days, courtesy of Jennifer the hairdresser in Santana Row’s Aveda Salon. I guess, I’ve been lucky enough to find a hairdresser that I like. Thank goodness! After almost three years of experimentation, I found somebody who understands what I’d like my hair to look like.
Really good hairdressers are hard to come by here. And if you want “hair styling†and not just a mere haircut, you have to cough up big bucks. It makes me shudder. I mean, think of the other stuffs I could buy with a $100. Books? DVDs? Toys? You know, stuffs. Hehe. Okay, granted these are not really “must-have†things but these are the things I’m sure I can get satisfaction from because they are right before my eyes.
Now hairstyle is another thing, right? You can’t really tell if the whole thing is going to look good on you until it’s over and all your hair strands were on the floor and being swept away. I’m sure you can probably imagine the horror even though you haven’t actually experienced getting your haircut and seeing the result of a dumbass “hairstylistâ€.
Sometimes, I think men have it easy when it comes to this kind of disaster. If a barber or a hairdresser accidentally gave them a crooked haircut, they could always have their hair cut even shorter. Or better yet, have their heads shaved off. Hehe. This doesn’t apply to all men, though. My husband is one exception.
He has shunned haircuts for a long, long time. The only time a scissor got to grace his hair was when he visited me in my homeland. I would take him along in Piandre, a salon in Greenbelt 1, and insist that he gets his long hair trimmed while he was waiting for me. He did it, of course, but begrudgingly.
“Geesh, it’s not like we’re cutting your hair short to make you look manly,†I said, rather sarcastically.
At that, he would sit down the salon chair with a look of utter despair and let the hairdresser do his or her thing. Well, not entirely his or her thing, because he or she was only allowed to cut an inch off the hubby’s long hair.
“See, it’s too short,†he’d complain after the ordeal. I would give him a “like-hell-it-is!†look and say, “It’s just an inch, for crying out loud. It’s going to grow back soon.â€
At that time, I wished I’d married a short-haired guy. Really. I made a mental note not to take him in my salon trips anymore or try to have him get a trim. I’d just pull my hair in frustration since too much hair pulling would definitely cause my hair to grow long. And I don’t like having long hair anymore. Grrr.
Anyway, this is probably part of the reason why I want to have short hair like a boy’s. I want to be exactly the opposite of what my husband has. Hehe. But alas, living here doesn’t make it easy because I don’t have a hairdresser I like.
Yeah, I did the rounds of experimentation but it was for naught. My first one was in Reno, this middle-aged lady gave me a Twiggy look. And she kept urging to get my hair colored and my nails done. “You should get this gel, it’s good for your hair. It’s in our counter up front,†she’d blabbered. Argh! It felt like I was being ambushed by a rabid salesperson.
Back in San Jose, I went to a Chinese hairdresser. She was really nice, but she totally blew the style. The left side of my hair was longer than the other side. What the hell! Even my husband noticed it when I got home. Now I hate going back to have things redone (I know, tamad kasi ako e), so I opted to have the hubby trim the longer side, which remedied the issue. But I never went back to that salon again.
Well, I’m not one to lose faith in hairdressers that easy. So I went to another hairdresser, a Caucasian one. Oh boy, was she talkative. She talked about herself, other people, other customers like I’m someone familiar. She talked and talked, until her next customer showed up. So she had to hurry cutting my hair, which again, resulted in a dismal look.
She is so totally different from James, one of my favorite hairdressers back in the homeland. James is the kind of hairdresser who takes pride in his work by spending a lot of meticulous time to perfect a haircut. He was extremely detailed and made sure every hair strand is in the right place and nothing’s uneven.
And what’s wonderful about this is that he does his job in silence. He never talks when he’s working. He would ask a few questions here and there but mostly it was about the cut, not about other people. He was that focused.
Yes, I put premium on silence because I don’t come to the salon to talk, I come there to be pampered quietly. Not that I don’t want to be friendly or something, it’s just that I really hate taking part in unnecessary conversations. I would rather watch how the person work than entertain questions about myself or other people. This is the reason why I don’t give elaborate answers whenever a hairdresser asks me about myself. It simply disturbs my world peace.
The only minor complaint I have with James is that he never really let me look like a boy even though I wanted a really short hair (not that I want to look like a boy, mind you). He would go to great lengths to make my hair girly despite its short length, which meant parting my hair carefully with a big brush and using a heavy dose of gel and hair spray. But I guess, I knew where he was coming from and he’s really a darling for doing it.
Bernard is also one of my favorites. He worked at Piandre. He had the same demeanor and work ethic as James, and is a real artist. I always gave him the freedom to do whatever style he thinks is best for my hair and I was never disappointed with the results. He’s quite a hairstylist. Again, he seldom talks while he’s working.
So coming here and encountering hairdressers who are not as good as the people I go to back in the homeland is quite disconcerting. Maybe I was just unlucky. Anyway, I decided to go to a “poshy†place and pay a little more for a haircut. Well, I usually don’t mind paying more for these kinds of services, I just wanted to go through some experimentations to see if I can find a really good hairdresser who is not so expensive.
But I guess I had enough of these haircut experiments to last me a lifetime. Hehe. The next time I wanted a haircut, I decided that I would have to invest in it. I know it’s risky since you’ll never really know if you’re going to get your money’s worth. It was really something of a gamble.
So not only did I put more money into it, I doubled my faith and trusted my luck one more time. Oh and prayed hard that my hair will come out just fine. Hehe. But it turned out I made the right decision. My hairdresser/stylist really did come up with a hair style I liked a lot.
Jennifer, the hairdresser/stylist, has the same traits as James and Bernard. She’s serious about her work, doesn’t talk too much, and very detailed and creative. Did I mention she didn’t talk too much?
Hmm…maybe it helped having one’s hairdresser bear the same name as you. For one, it gives you a certain confidence and trust that he or she will live up to that name and not screw up. It’s weird, I know. Teehee.