Adventures in adulting: Getting a haircut

Living in a foreign country and not speaking the language can make many mundane things incredibly frightening. Trips to the grocery, bank, and post office are monumental tasks that take hours of mental preparation. Doctors and dentists are only sought in true emergencies because the mental stress of trying to get through the visit is worse than the pain or illness. Even something as simple as a haircut takes courage, strength, and a willingness for it all to come out wrong. 

This weekend I got my hair cut.

It took me two months to get the courage to go. This was my third haircut in Japan and by far the most necessary. Summer sun and near constant washing from constant sweating really did a number on my hair. Part of the delay was a worry about funds.  We have had a lot of holidays recently and I have traveled quite a bit. But the larger part was fear. I just wanted a trim, but I had no idea how to communicate that to the stylist.  But finally I bit the proverbial bullet and walked to the salon near my house.

Japanese salons are very different from those I have visited in America. Despite offering the same services, both countries go about it in a completely different way. I was greeted at the door, given a consultation, and presented with a price before a single strand was every cut. I talked with three people before I was ever shown to the barbers chair. My purse was locked in a locker since there were no counters at the individual mirrors. It seemed that everything was designed to be a shared space with stylists filling in where needed instead of being tied to one customer as in the US.

My consultation involved a lot of gestures and onomatopoeia, but I hoped by the end of it that the young man that would be my stylist for the afternoon had at least some idea what I was looking for. I was ushered to another chair and the haircut began. With dry hair.

This was a little confusing for me. I have never had my hair cut dry before. It wasn’t impossible, but there was a good deal of hair floating around. It clung to my nose and the poor stylists clothes. Japanese hair, from my experience, is much coarser than mine.  The hair follicles themselves are much thicker. I don’t think my stylist was quite prepared to deal with my gaijin hair. But he managed it. We got through the cut and moved to the wash.

It was heaven. Pure heaven. Fellas, let me tell you something; women don’t pay forty or fifty dollars for a haircut. They pay that for the scalp massage they get with the wash.  There is just something about having another person wash your hair and scratch and rub all over your scalp. And this, like so many service related things, is soooo much better in Japan. I will admit, the lack of human contact in this country made me enjoy the ten minute pampering that much more, but it was also a very thorough and concentrated massage.

Afterward I was escorted back to the cutting chair and given a brief shoulder massage before my hair was blown dry and styled. In the end I looked fabulous. The cut was just right and I felt much more relaxed after my brief massage.  

I will still have to screw up my courage next time I need a haircut. Or to go to the bank.  Or the post office. But I am glad to be staying in such a caring, attentive, and helpful country.