Kuaför

I had a fascinating experience a couple of months ago when I went to the hairdresser for the first time.  My biggest obstacle living in Turkey is that so few Turks speak English, and my Turkish is limited to tell the taxi driver to go left or right,  and to say "how much does it cost?" (but I am not always sure if I understand the answer)

In our neighborhood there seems to be a hairdresser on every corner, and for weeks I had been bracing myself to go in and ask if anyone could cut my hair, and then see what happened.  Since we live in a posh neighborhood where foreigners are very common,  I was hoping I would be lucky and someone would know just a few phrases in English,  but I also had a backup plan in my bag: a picture of a haircut from a magazine.

I tried a couple of places, but they just looked at me like I had asked if I could borrow some toilet paper, so I backed out.  Eventually I walked in to a big, fancy place where they were all very service minded.  The place was swarming with good-looking employees, and they even found a customer who spoke both English and Turkish, and who had probably been in similar situations many years ago and therefore very happy to be my interpreter.

Before I knew it I was getting my hair washed by an apprentice and asked if I preferred tea or coffee.   The apprentice then showed me where to sit, put my apron on (with the name of the salon printed backwards so it could be read in the mirror), combed my hair and spread all the different scissors and combs out like we were getting ready for brain surgery.  Finally everything was ready for the "master" to enter the scene, while the apprentices (yes, plural) ran back an forth to serve him hairpins, water spray or anything else he needed.

Never before has my hair been cut so thoroughly, and never before  have I felt like a movie star getting my hair done.  The place was buzzing with female customers that looked like they were getting their hair ready to meet their girlfriends for lunch, and a swarm of employees with beautiful hair.  In Turkey it seems like most hairstylists (or apprentices) are male and the females are taking care of manicures and pedicures (or making coffee, sweeping the floor or simply holding the hairdryer)

After about 45 min. of cutting, the stylist started drying my hair.  This time he had a female assistant, and again I was reminded of the fine tuned interaction between a brain surgeon and his nurse, as she was holding all the different brushes ready for the stylist.  She was also holding the hairdryer so he could use both hands to make my hair look full, holding a strand of hair when he needed it out of the way, holding the bottle of hairspray and giving it two squirts when he gave her the signal, and so on.

I have to say I had a wonderful time at the hairdresser that day and my self-esteem got boosted by the stylist saying my hair color was perfect and "çok güzel", so I felt pretty good thinking about how funny it is that people working in hair salons all over the world are dressed in black.............until the bill came............. 

I didn't have an extra mirror at home, so I used Photo Booth to be able to see how my neck looked...