London water is hard. Incredibly hard. Which apparently means incredibly bad hair. Not only does it leave your hair looking like steel wool, it also feels like there's some kind of remaining residue. Yuck. People suggest doing a vinegar rinse after a shampoo to get rid of it, but I don't think smelling like a salad is the better alternative. Combined with the constant dampness, it means that I walk around with big curly hair at all times - my asianfro. I'm not one of those fortunate asian chicks who have that pin straight cascade of hair that would make a Pantene Pro-V model blush. Instead, I have wimpy, wavy hair that can't make up its mind as to what it wants to be. The two inch black roots also don't help matters. That's right people, I'm not a natural highlighted brunette.
I needed to do something, anything, and I'm scared of new hair people. New stylists, new colorists, it's all the stuff of nightmares. I had Cole and Tracey at the Byron and Tracey Salon take care of me for so long, I kind of froze with paralysis when I arrived here. I don't know how it worked out in my head, but I decided that box color was better than trying to find a new colorist here. Which is how I ended up with piles of purplish towels and mostly black hair. Note the key use of the word "mostly." J called me Patches for days.
Anyway, J and I were both overdue for a haircut so we went to a nice Japanese salon I found in our soon-to-be neighborhood. It was quite the experience, and J was ecstatic. He got two (count 'em, two!) shampoos, and a massage thrown in at the end along with a laser precise haircut. I ended up with the Rachel, but at least I only have one hair color now. Did I mention that my stylist squeezed the top of my head? Several times? I think he was testing the thickness and springiness of my hair. I think.
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