After three months of hair growth, I was entering the realm of too long to style, too short to be androgenously beautiful (It's a little creepy how close some males look like females here since Japanese women aren't curvy).
I had left it uncut for this long because of fear and cost. Karen has always cut my hair, close to 10 years, and I didn't know if i could trust anyone else, and I didn't know if I could pay money for the service. I wasn't about to go to a 10 dollar under 10 minute haircut place (although one coworker tried to persuade me how good they are, but if I believed him, it would be like believing a fat guy recommending his weight loss program). On the other hand I didn't want to spend 70 dollars on a haircut either.
I needed to find a middleground.
Cuore was my choice. A place that happened to be next door to where I work. When I say happen, I really mean I was too lazy to really explore and find another place. The stylists seemed cool looking and the price moderate. I went in and did crazy hand movements to book an appointment for 3 pm. I came back an hour later equipped with 4 words I had asked my Japanese staff:
long,
short,
longer and
shorter. I already knew the word for a
little, so with 5 words I was able (along with my thumb and index finger) to accurately describe what I wanted. My pencil drawn picture and their magazine also helped.
First, an apprentice wet my hair (her english was good), put a thin cloth on my face and strapped other rags to my face as she turned on a shampooing machine. Before she walked away she stuffed something soft in both ears, told me the machine is a bit loud and the wash would be five minutes. Blind and deaf, I had little time to panic before soothing jets paraded my head and it felt like a gentle massage. The jets went up and down my head for five minutes and then stopped. I got off the chair and was directed to the stylist who cut my hair.
He was a mid thirties, stylish but not without prank and mischief to his aura. He had large teeth and seemed a little goofy when he smiled. It made me relaxed, like we had been college roomates. Ever so often he would try to say a string of Japanese sentences and I would shrug my shoulders. He would try again a few minutes later expecting or hoping that during the elapsed minutes I wasn't just idle but instead improving my Japanese and would then understand his Japanese.
I managed to find out he had been cutting for 13 years by pointing at him and expertly modeling my index finger and middle finger into a pair of scissors and then throwing a Hail Mary english word "Years. Years. How many years?" (You can't go wrong with the fingers imitating scissors; it's almost as though those two fingers were made to represent scissors.) I also found out that he was trained under the Vidal Sasson technique as well as another school (the apprentice told me this). When the apprentice talked about schools and training and technique, I imagined him as a Street fighter learning different styles from schools and his weapon is the scissors and my hair was his opponent. Whatever techniques he learned, he was quite experienced because his cuts were precise and swift.
After he cut my hair I was shampooed again by another guy who then started giving me head massages and back massages. He was really good and I was really enjoying it. He then took great care doing my shoulders and he seemed to be fighting an invisible demon of sorts, because his demeanour became serious and his movements quickened. He spoke to me in Japanese while indicating my shoulders. I nodded assuming he was telling me that I have knots in my shoulders and carry too much tension in the area. I tried to clarify by saying "My shoulders. No good?" But after I said it I realized my mistake. Japanese do not use intonation so to him I said "My shoulders. No good," as though I was telling him I was not enjoying the shoulder massage. I knew this because he blushed and then immediately switched to my head and then only after two to three seconds he stopped massaging and blow dried my hair before letting the stylist from before style my hair. I would have tried to tell him he was a good massager but I would have probably ended up digging a deeper hole or maybe I was wrong and then I would have made him embarrassed for no reason.
When I went to pay I was surprised it came to only 40 dollars. I asked for the stylist's card so I could get him again and they gave me a stamp card for future discounts. Just before the cashier gave me the bill she gave this strange look to the stylist and he nodded like he was giving the okay to something. I'm not sure if I got a discount, but I like to think I was cool enough with the stylist to have gotten one.
Well here are the pics (click for larger views). Tell me what you think Karen. I know it's not Vidal but you have to tip at Vidal :).
UPDATE: HOLY SHIT. I just looked at the pictures. They are really big, so this is just a warning: do not click unless you want to see an ugly close-up of my mug. Damn I should have photoshopped those pictures first!
