Vanity thy name is Raji

When I was mulling over the crazy idea of heading to Italy for a time there was much weighing of the pros and cons.  It would be an adventure, setting up in a new country and meeting new people would be exciting and being in Europe would mean I could indulge my desire to see new countries without the thirty hour transit but could I leave dear friends, a great city with all its wonders?  And could I give up the most rewarding and longest lasting relationship I’ve ever had with a male, could I leave Jay, my hairdresser?

Jay is the proprietor of Chainsaw Massacre and is the greatest hairdresser in the world.  Over the years I’ve seen Jay’s dogs grow up and old and my hair has gone from the long and flowing to the short pixie crop that I have been favouring for the last few years.  When getting your haircut you are putting your trust entirely in another person (not one of my strong points) and if you find a hairdresser who no matter what always makes you look good you keep hold of them.  Over the years we’ve gotten to know each other and now I don’t need to say anything to Jay I just sit in the chair and let him work his magic knowing the result will be amazing. 

Since setting up in Treviso I’ve always known the day would come when I would have to face up to the fact that I need a haircut.  Well this week and ten weeks after my last visit to Jay I looked in the mirror and knew that my hair looked terrible.  Now getting your haircut by a new hairdresser is already a traumatic enough experience how the hell was I going to do it with someone whose language I don’t speak?  When your hair is as short as mine there is no room to hide, a bad haircut is a bad haircut and it takes a lot time and humiliation to get over it.  I even, for a crazy moment, considered a return to long tresses. 

First up I asked if anyone could recommend me a hairdresser.  After much thought one of the girls at work mentioned she had been to someone in Treviso five years ago to trim an inch off her long hair – not the kind of recommendation I was after.  T another British teacher at school told me of an English speaking hairdresser working in the centre of Treviso and off I went on the hopeless task of trying to locate this guy.  After a fruitless search I resorted to walking into any salon I could find and asking how much a haircut would be, as much as I needed the cut I was not prepared (and cannot afford) to pay the 60 Euro most places where quoting.  Tired and painfully aware that I had bad hair I was on my way home when I stopped into one last salon there the young man said a haircut would be 20 euro plus 3 for washing, no appointment necessary just stop by.  Now this kind of rock up and get a cut normally signals alarm but the price was affordable and my current look awful so what the hell. 

As he washed my hair I fought the urge to flee the scene, how could I let anyone else near my hair with a blade and how was I going to tell him what to do?  Oh if I had the money I’d fly Jay over here.  After the wash (no head massage or cuppa) came the question “what would you like?”  I wanted to say I’d like my hairdresser who knows me and who I can trust but considering that would have been really unhelpful managed to say I want it blunt, textured and chipped into.  Now he gave every impression of understanding me hairdressing terms seem universal, and even said he understood but then he uttered the fateful words: “If you don’t mind I have an idea.”  We proceeded to haggle over my hair with him uttering words like wispy, body and movement in the end I put my foot down; my hair much like me is to be short and blunt.  As he set to work my young hairdresser was painfully aware of the fact that I was watching his every movement and every snip.  After an hour in the chair the cut was done and both of us exhausted.  I noted that he hadn’t entirely given up on his ideas but was too tired to get him to fix the asymmetric fringe he’d given me.  Having paid and left I couldn’t believe how harrowing I found the experience.  As far as the cut goes I’m not sure what I think about it yet.  It’s not the same but I’m learning to live with it.  It’s much better than before and infinitely better than the long haired alternative. 

The Cut