parisian haircut

{the only thing to come up in my search of vintage coiffure on 

pinterest looks hilariously like my hairdresser today}

I can safely attest that most of us love a good hair cut. it’s not necessarily the end result, but the means of getting there-- the massaging wash, the delicate brushing and fondling of your “goods,” the blow out and definitely the products!! I’ve been neglecting getting mine cut since I moved abroad, wanting to grow it out and wanting my loyalty to stay with julie back home, but could stand it no longer and decided a fresh cut might be a nice little treat before a summer’s worth of sweat and tangles make me rip it out myself. annie and I scheduled matching appointments today at a place recommended from a friend, just in case I needed her to do some hair talk in french.
today’s experience started out with overheated from my power walk in the humidity and getting judged like crazy as I passed over my forever21 trench coat. it continued with a very relaxing wash, that seemed to reach almost to my eyebrows and I found myself uncertain if I had over-bronzed to his liking or if he thought I’d booked an appointment for my eyebrows as well. from there, he didn't really understand anything I said, indicating I need not worry and him laughing as I showed him a picture of what I wanted and it was longer than my hair already was. haha whoops! he then tried to persuade me to cut most all of mine off because it gets such bad tangles (sorry I was born with very fine hair) and as he brushed ripped out my hair, I was fearful I may indeed be bald after the hour was through and politely mentioned maybe they should use some moroccan oil. once we got to cutting, he conveniently brought over a stool that he sat on while he cut my hair (apparently all french hairdressers do this) only stopping to occasionally comb back his own hair as it fell into his face and slighted his vision. I swear he  was checking himself out more than me. seriously buddy? inside I was dying laughing. the cutting was fine until he started doing super tight twists that made my face look like it’d endured plastic surgery and then there was a technique of random chopping where he may as well have had his eyes closed. I also panicked as he thinned my already thin hair. again, seriously?? but then again, there was a time when he was on his knees, and I pitied the poor fellow, covered in my blonde castaways, his white pants now partially black. but not for long, as he made sure to immediately blow dry himself off. truthfully he did a really good job, though a simple few inches isn’t a hard task. and I did love him for hooking me up on the products, though I couldn’t exactly say merci monsieur, because he seemed to be flirting the gender line. the best part of the whole thing, though, was as I was going to leave and as he asked if I had an umbrella. and as he realized I was going to use my trench coat, he stood aghast like, how dare you, you stupid american girl, ruin all my precious work. and while I hated that I’d forgotten one and my hair, while perfect for all of 3 minutes was now shot-to-shit, his face was totally worth it.