Wednesday, February 20, 2019// The Statement
6B
W
henever I realize I need a
haircut, it always takes me
a few days to get around to
booking it. First, because I always have
something to do and often forget, but also
because it takes a certain amount of cour-
age for me to decide that I want to go to
a place where I will be expected to make
small talk with a stranger.
Growing up, I always got my haircut
with the same person. My mom’s best
friend. We went to her house, I told her
how to cut my hair and then she and my
mom talked while I sat quietly, getting
layers or bangs or whatever the style was
that I felt like experimenting with, which
almost always ended up being
mostly the same, but a little dif-
ferent — anything to make me feel
innovative.
My taste for safe innovation
extends to my social interactions.
Small talk is not bad as long as I am
free to leave whenever I deem the
conversation over. Strangers are
not bad as long as there is a possibil-
ity that we will eventually move on
from small talk onto something less
circular. But being forced to have
endless small talk with a stranger,
while being stuck on a rotating
chair? That’s a no from me.
The entire experience is curated.
The moment I open the door, I am
hit by the smell of a perfectly pun-
gent lavender eucalyptus oil, and
then I turn and make eye contact
with the receptionist. She smiles
as if she’s known me for years and
asks my name. “Did you have an
appointment?” she says, her voice
trailing off as she looks for my name
in the system and some indecipher-
able last name matches her search.
“Would you like some water or
tea?” she asks. I say tea and she
turns to get it, but another custom-
er is already at the door. She promptly
forgets her offer and goes on with her day
searching names on a computer, offer-
ing tea and smiling to an endless flow of
strangers.
When my stylist comes downstairs
and calls my name, I realize she was the
woman who cut my hair last time I was
here a few months ago. However, she
greets me again like a stranger, says her
name and locks my eyes with hers in a
more-than-brief moment.
Once she seated me in the chair, my
cape on and hair wet, she asks me again
if I would like some tea or water. I say tea
again, and minutes later she comes back
with a mug of room temperature water,
explaining they have just run out of tea.
I say it is ok and she proceeds to cut my
hair in silence.
With every cut I expect her to initiate
a conversation, but she never does. I’m
secretly grateful and pull out my phone,
but her head placement directions quick-
ly prove scrolling impossible. Then, with
no other options and a lot of intrinsic
curiosity, I start looking at and listening
to what is going on around me.
The music playing overhead is happy
but unrecognizable over the myriad of
voices and hair dryers functioning on the
floor. After a second of silence, while the
queue organizes itself, I hear a customer
behind me recognize and start singing
the new song playing through the speak-
ers.
“Uh, let’s go to the beach, each…”
“Let’s go get away.” The stylist contin-
ues while swaying his hips but keeping
his steady hands at bay. I recognize the
song too, a 2012 hit I remember from high
school dances. Suddenly, from my omni-
present mirror that somehow, through
one reflection or other, can observe
almost everyone in the room, I see heads
bobbing, mouths moving and feet tapping
to the song.
“Starships were meant to fly.”
The customer behind me gets more
excited as the chorus comes for the first
time; “Hands up and touch the sky,” she
sings. I can tell the words came out loud-
er than she intended because she and her
stylist let out a nervous laugh afterwards.
In the station next to me, the stylist,
whose name remains a mystery, as she
is referred to differently by almost every
person who addresses her, has a light up
crystal plugged in at her station for “good
vibes.” She is cutting another girl’s hair
while talking about her own engagement
and Netflix habits.
“My fiancé and I just started watch-
ing ‘Breaking Bad,’” she says. “It is such
a good show, but depending on what kind
of shows you’re into.”
Thanks to my mirror, I can also see a
girl and her stylist working away two
rows behind me. I am not sure how I can
hear them, but they’re talking about the
woman’s love life.
“He’s 38 and I am 23,” the girl says.
“I kind of like the age difference. It has
never been a huge problem.”
The stylist’s eyes widen as he registers
his customer’s situation and then he says
something along the lines of giving her a
discount on a blow out, for extra confi-
dence on her date with an older man.
Next to them is a stylist with an older
customer, seemingly the oldest in the
salon. Her hair is short and gray and her
face is beautifully drawn in with wrin-
kles. I can’t piece together what she is
saying, but her lips never stop moving and
her and her stylist let out a laugh once in
a while. She leaves before me, with a per-
fectly inert and spiky pixie cut.
My hair is being dried now, and my
stylist asks if I have a preference on how
to style it. I say no and she proceeds
to dry and curl my hair to her lik-
ing. By this time, I can already feel
the hairs that, despite the cape, got
stuck to my neck and sweater. As
a distraction, I continue to let my
ears and eyes wander into other
stylists’ stations.
The customer who loves “Star-
ships” is gone and a long-haired,
brunette, middle-aged woman has
replaced them. The stylist has gone
to fetch her tea and she sits on her
chair talking on an old flip phone.
“I think you should buy the
chicken for tonight,” she talks into
the phone. “I will probably be here
for another hour. Would it be too
much to ask? The store is on your
way back.”
My hair is almost all curled now
and my stylist remains quiet, bit-
ing her lip every time she takes a
new strand onto the curling wand.
It just started snowing outside and
I hear one or two people comment
on the weather in the background.
I let my imagination fill in the gaps
between the conversations.
The girl with the blow out went
on a date with the 38-year-old man
and she discovered he was married. The
woman and her fiancé finished “Break-
ing Bad” and started binging “Game of
Thrones” in their gold and teal decorated
living room. The brunette lady’s signifi-
cant other didn’t only buy the chicken,
but they also cooked it and served it with
accompanying romantic candles and
chocolate cake for dessert.
I exit the salon with a slightly crooked
bob and new bangs, but also with a found
love for haircuts and a few semi-imagi-
nary, new acquaintances.
Tea or water
BY ANDREA PÉREZ BALDERAMA, MANAGING STATEMENT EDITOR
ILLUSTRATION BY CHRISTINE JEGARL