Haircut in Hong Kong

I’m not a girly girl. I really never have cared about my outside as much as my inside. I don’t use hair curlers (hot or not), flat irons (my hair is naturally flat and I don’t consider that a good thing) or curling irons (the one time I tried I ended up with a 4 inch burn across my forehead). My way of styling my hair is bending over, hanging my head upside down and blow drying. I stand up and am ready to go. I don’t even keep a comb or brush in my purse. 


Having said that I am very particular about how my hair looks. A great stylist can give me a haircut that enables me to maintain my wash and wear lifestyle. I have been going to Naturally Pure, an Aveda salon, in Webster Groves since it first opened many years ago. The owner Amanda has become my friend and confidant. We share stories about her dogs, her sisters and her fiance and my dog, my kids and my husband. Remember the old advertisement “Only her hairdresser knows for sure”? Well Amanda knows plenty.


So with this history how would I ever get my hair cut in Hong Kong? Whom could I trust? And more importantly would they speak English well enough to understand what I wanted? I told Rusty I would put my thumb and forefinger about a ½ inch apart to show that is the amount I wanted cut off. He said they would probably think that was how long I wanted my hair and I would end up buzzed. Oh my that communication thing again.


I confidently went to the Aveda website (they are an international company) and found four salons in Hong Kong two of which were on the island. I called the salon in Central. The Central Business District is decidedly upscale and full of much glitz and glamour. I figured they had to be good.


The young receptionist I spoke with on the phone sounded friendly and her English was fairly good so I made an appointment. Things were looking positive. So why was I nervous? I had butterflies in my stomach the morning of the haircut. My nerves were at a level somewhere between the apprehension of getting a colonoscopy and being summoned to the Principal's office at my sons’ school. Both of which I’ve done and neither have I enjoyed. 


I arrived at exactly the appointed time and felt comforted by the familiar sights of Aveda products and the kind receptionist. She escorted me to the chair and then a nice young man named Kenneth put a cape on me. I asked if he knew how to cut hair like mine. He smiled and said nothing. I repeated myself only to have him smile and walk away. This was not looking good. 


As I was getting even more nervous a young man came up and introduced himself. His name was Christopher and he was my stylist. His English was excellent and I started to relax. He assured me that I needed a different hairstyle. We discussed some options and for some reason I succumbed. Yes, I would go with a new ‘do.


Kenneth whisked me off to a quite room with chairs that reclined back into flat sinks. I was literally laying down to get my hair washed. I do enjoy the warm water and relaxation of someone massaging my scalp, but this was beyond that. Kenneth spent the next half hour gently washing what felt like each and every hair on my head. Then he conditioned and I think conditioned some more. I basically lost all track of time. 


When he took me back to the chair for my haircut I was ready to agree to anything. Christopher rushed over and explained that he was in the middle of something and could I possibly wait a few minutes. Well of course! I picked up a magazine and started to page through. Unfortunately this was one of those rags that has models with calves the size of my wrist, makeup that looks like something from Rocky Horror and jewelry that costs the same as a new car. The good vibes were gone. Where was Christopher? 15 minutes turned into 20, then 25, then 30. Just as I was getting ready to take off my cape and bolt for the door Christopher appeared.


He had someone bring me tea and talked me back into that new haircut. He snipped, clipped and cut with the precision of a seamstress and the intensity of a surgeon. He assured me this style would be much more flattering and comfortable in the humidity of Hong Kong. 


As the last lock dropped to the floor I looked in the mirror at my new ‘do and smiled. I’m not sure if I’m really stylin or if I look like Justine Beiber’s mother I thought. But that doesn’t matter. I made it thorough my first haircut in Hong Kong without crying.