Next time instead of a 4-dollar haircut I should get a ten dollar one.
My father is fastidious when it comes to personal grooming. Everything must tailored to fit and be ironed, shirt, t-shirt, and jeans. Yes, even jeans must have a nice crease down the middle. Needless to say I don’t exactly have the same standards. I can dress up with the best of them, but it is not a daily occurrence. Add to it the fact that I am mainly working from home and you have me no make-up, jeans and t-shirt everyday. But my father’s meticulousness is an, ni hora, ni fecha en el calendario, and 24/7 ongoing searches for what is wrong with me. It is once again my hair turn. Once again because several different things take their turn with what is wrong with me. They are: my hair, my skin, my choice of clothing, my choice of shoes, the fact that my shoes are not shined, that I am too heavy or too thin.
So his tune go get a haircut has been getting louder and louder. He offers to pay for it, to recommend a place, and finally to do it himself. So I accept to go to the local hairdresser, two blocks away. Most Colombian women before going to the hairdresser, doctor, or corner store dress up, put on makeup and heels. I am,let us not forget a Gringa, so I put on my daily uniform. T-shirt, jeans, flats and off I go.
The very gay hairdresser, Gabriel from Medellin, took one look at me, and said silently to himself, one mullet coming up! In his very cute decorated jeans, and tight t-shirt he proceeded to tell me that my hair is really dry. Oh and! Do you realize you have lots of white hairs? I told him I thought they weren’t that many and that they made me look distinguished. Distinguished was probably the wrong word, a tad too butch. It did not matter that I told him that I was growing my hair out, or that I just wanted a trim. One mullet on the double!
Hair salons are institutions in Colombia. They can be as elaborate as museums, or little hole in the walls but they are always busy. They are full of women, cutting, dying, plucking, shaping, straightening, curling, and their hair on a weekly basis. I have heard of women who would rather cheat on their husbands than their hairdresser.
After Gabriel finished with the mullet, I tried not to scream. I silently was stewing, when he started to brush the hairs off my face. I told him not to bother that I was going home to shower. That night I had an event and I would be dressing up and putting on makeup. With his well-manicured eyebrow rose- “You put on make up?
“Yes, why?”
“Oh I thought you didn’t put any on” giggle!
The man just met me, I just walked off the street! How would he know?
“Well you just don’t seem like the type.”
That is when I understood that in this increasing Barbiefication of Colombian women, a girl like me is a lesbian. And she deserves a mullet.
Adendum: After reading this post my sister confirms that she too has had ¨boyish¨ haircuts despite her specific instructions. She never could understand why until she read this post. She agrees that unless you are a girly girl, you don´t get a ¨feminine¨ haircut or treatment.
