This is just a courtesy post to put some minds at ease— a couple of days ago I said that when looking at a certain photo of myself I noticed I desperately needed a haircut. I got a torrent of e-mails and messages after that (mostly from male friends and readers) asking me not to cut it. But what (most) boys don’t understand is that it’s not about making hair shorter, it’s about keeping the ends of the hair healthy. Hair gets to a point where the split ends just make it look ratty, and seeing as I hadn’t had my hair cut in about three years, it was way past the point of rattiness. Also, it gets to a stage where the ends start breaking off, and this means it never gets any longer and the bottom of the hair looks fluffy and uneven. So it needed cutting, end of story.
Having said that, I was hesitant myself. The reason I’d gone so long without a haircut was because after I moved to Turkey, I became afraid of salons. It wasn’t just the language barrier, it was the artistic ego of many Turkish hairdressers. Turkey is absolutely saturated with highly-trained hairdressers (almost all of them men, for some reason), and they appear to be trained not only in the skill of cutting hair, but also in the art of looking at clients and making judgements about which haircuts will go with which faces and so on. This means that over the three years I’ve been here, I’ve seen countless friends come out of the salon crying that the hairdresser did what he wanted rather than what they wanted. One friend who had hair down to her waist asked for a trim and came out with a chin-length bob; she said the hairdresser had her facing away from the mirror and by the time she realised what was going on it was too late. I’ll admit, I thought the haircut looked great on her— I’m not denying the skill of the Turkish hairdresser, only his willingness to follow directions. It was enough to keep me out of the salon for a long time, but I knew eventually I’d have to take a chance on someone.
So yesterday was the day, and Emirhan took me to a salon way across town, one that had come highly recommended from a friend of mine. I made sure Emirhan sat with me there the whole time— he can appear and sound quite intimidating when he wants to, and I needed someone to threaten the hairdresser with castration if he chopped my hair off. He spoke to the guy for a few minutes while I had my hair washed, and I was assured by both of them that a bare minimum of hair would be taken off.
So I let him near me with the scissors, and I’m pretty pleased with the result. It’s not too short, and I haven’t had layers for a while, so it was nice to do that again for a change. It’s not the most outlandish haircut I’ve ever had, but that’s okay. I just wanted him to prove to me that he could cut hair and follow instructions. He passed the test, so maybe next time I’ll get something more unusual (I used to be the queen of weird haircuts).
In any case, I just wanted to post a photo so that those of you who contacted me with your concerns could see that I haven’t gone crazy and shaved it off just yet. I don’t know though— when August rolls around and the temperatures soar up into the 50s… I can’t promise anything.