Cloudy in Beijing Blogging about my time in China

My first perm

I went to get a haircut today at the school's local hair salon. It was supposed to be a simple affair. "Yao sao wei duan yi dian," I said upon sitting down for a trim. "Please cut it a little shorter."

The stylist, a man from Liaoning, had a better idea in mind.

"Ya know, your hair will look a lot better if you curl it in the back," he said. He then took his hand and proceeded to gingerly curl portions of my hand with his two fingers, showing me what he meant. "It won't take very long," he added.

He then passed me a book with the hair style he thought would suit me, pictures of models posing on the glossy pages. I'm too old for this, I thought (I'm a very elderly 25 year old).

I haven't had much experience with hair stylists. For the longest time my mom would cut my hair, and still does on occasion. And the times where I've had my hair done by a professional, it was straight-forward; no fancy-schmancy stuff, just cut it down an inch.

Well, today was different. I decided what the hell. Perm my hair.

I've noticed that in China, some young guys here have some interesting hair cuts, often resembling some Japanese rock star. At times, the hair can really look like it's been shocked, all spiky and sharp; and sometimes its uneven, with long bangs draping over one side of the face.

It took about an hour before it was all done. They curled my hair, doused it with some chemicals, toasted it with a spinning whatchamacallitit , rinsed it once more and then finally styled it.

I was pretty afraid that maybe I'd ruin my hair and end up shaving it all off. But it turned out fine. Looking at the above picture it's hard to notice anything different. But my hair feels poofier, all the while of having the subtle smile of hair chemical still marinated over it.

I asked my roommate what he thought of my haircut. Giving me an almost bewildered look, my roommate said: "It has a lot of personality."