Back to the 80s

My dreaded haircut. I must first disclaim that I have had a fear of hairdressers ever since the second grade when I went to get a trim and walked out of the salon looking like a little boy. I think it took me a good decade before ever entering another hair salon again. Through the years I have improved, however, I am still extremely wary. A couple of years ago when I was in Madrid, I was brave enough to get my hair cut and I don't speak a word of Spanish, but I still managed with hand gestures and all to get a great haircut. So how hard can it be in Paris when I can actually speak the language?

When I asked the salon if they had someone who cut curly hair well, I was told anyone who knows how to cut hair could cut curly hair. I tried to explain in my broken French that from my past experience that was not always the case. When I asked about low lights (which I have done numerous times in US) I received a look like I might be crazy and was told that it would be pointless to do such a process. Instead of explaining that low lights add depth and volume I decided to compromise to just a single color treatment a tad darker than my normal color. For my hair, a trim with some long layers and framed around my face, simple.

Pretty much my whole experience was spent at the sink, which lead to days of neck pain. Weird, yes, but when in Rome ... It wasn't until the next day when I was complaining of my neck pain did my mother inform me that, that was not the norm. Luckily, a trim was just a trim but for some reason I didn't get any long layers.

I asked for my hair to be styled frise (curly) not straight. Oh my, I can't even explain what they did but I walked out of the salon looking like I stepped out of a 1980s music video with a huge afro and the frizziest hair ever. Seriously! Oh, and the color was far from a tad darker I could join the Addams Family. Immediately, my hair went into its traditional bun. Next time, I think I might be better off going back to Madrid.