Just over a year ago, I blogged about my relationship with my hair and local stylists. This is sort-of like that but with a Halloween twist. In Spring. In a country that doesn’t celebrate Halloween.
My friend L. was over today. We sat around drinking coffee solving most of the world’s greatest ontological riddles… you know, the really big existential ones like, “Why am I here?” and “Who am I really?”
In so doing, we decided there are two things we absolutely must go home to the States for: shopping and haircuts.
L. is 40 this year and finds herself fit, smart, tanned, with a good job and title… and strolling the streets of luxurious Lugano with a bi-level haircut reminiscent of the 1980s.
The super-swanky Luganese salon I go to turned my hair orange Thursday. I’m not sure you can get how fully orange, spotted and striped it was. Think calico cat mottled orange on black.
The woman (a different woman from the creative colorist) also refused to cut the top shorter so the back had more movement and the front wasn’t in my eyes all the time. She actually said no when I asked her!
When I went back the next day to have them fix the color, I didn’t want to push my luck by having them take scissors in hand.
I think I’ll trim the very front myself and I won’t even have to pay hundreds of dollars for it! This is definitely one of those Expat Adventure things…
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This is exactly the conversation I had when I moved from California to Colorado lo these many years ago – one thing I must do in California – haircuts…thankfully that has changed.