Sunday, June 04, 2006

Not Lost in Translation

Since I took my new job in financial services, I've been feeling very uptown and affluent. Prior to my new lifestyle, I used to feel very downwardly downtown mobile. Because of this, I've been to every upscale hair salon in the city so that I could feel fancy for a couple of hours each week. From Federic to Brad to Garren, I've dabbled with the best of the them. Now, that I can actually afford it, I decided to slum it, and head to Alphabet City for some experimental hair color. I met this very cute young Japanese hairdresser at my friend Collette's party and decided to throw caution to the wind and let him revamp my hair color. When I got to the salon, I realized immediately that I was in Harajuku territory and that nobody spoke very good English. Also, all the hair magazines were in Japanese and they had extensive offerings of perms and extensions. I couldn't quite translate the concepts of ash and my dislike of brassy blonde color into Japanese. I made the stylist actually get out the color sample book to explain what I liked, but I was still nervous because he just kept nodding no matter what I said. So, I sat there panicking for three hours as he foiled and painted and mixed. The only thing he said to me that I completely understood was "relax." As I waited, I found myself figuring out about how I was going to write about my upcoming "Harjuku Hair Crisis of 2006." Instead, for the first time in years, my hair is exactly as I like it. He did a fantastic job for 150% less than I have paid elsewhere. At the end of the appointment, we actually bowed at one another as I accepted his business cards in both hands (in true Japanese style) to give to my friends who I know are going to be very curious who did my fabulous new hair color.

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