inqk.net

Before I came to Japan I hadn’t had my hair cut in almost a year. This is the longest I’d ever gone between visits to the barber and although I had intended to keep it going for the full twelve months fate stood in the way. Osaka is in the grip of one of Japan’s hottest summers with the end result being that my hair, not my most outstanding feature at the best of times, had devolved into a brown clump sitting atop my scalp that literally traps the heat my brain gives off. It’s like my own private runaway greenhouse effect.

So, my hand being forced as it were, I decided I would get a haircut. In Japan. Now I realise there’s a general rule of thumb that says that anything that happens in Japan is ten times cooler than if it happened at home. Let me just say I have in fact had this verified and it is twenty times cooler. For while I might have gone to get a haircut what I instead received was an experience.

But first of all some background information is in order. I have not been blessed with great hair. Indeed, the relationship between me and my hair has been strained for several years now. As such, I have never seen fit to ‘treat’ my hair to a visit to some fancy hairdressing place. Instead I have prided myself on my ability to find the cheapest possible haircut I could find. In fact so long as by the time I stand up out of that model of chair that all barbers seem to have my hair is shorter than it was when I sat down I do not complain. Indeed when you pay AUS$8 for a haircut I think this is realisitically the most you can expect.

Now despite having a brief look around it does not appear as if the low-price haircut has ‘caught on’ in Japan as it has in the CBD of Sydney. I suggest two possible reasons for this. The first being that Japanese people take greater pride in their appearance than their Western counterparts (possible). The second is that there just aren’t enough British backpackers to staff such an establishment (more likely). Things being the way they are, then, it seemed as if I would have to pay almost 2000 yen for my haircut. That’s more than AUS$20! That’s like having two haircuts at the same time!

This alone was probably enough of a shock for me. But more was to come. In spite of my limited Japanese ability Rui felt it would be fine for me to go to the hairdressers on my own. Oh, she would escort me there of course but once we had managed to navigate our way to the establishment in question it would be all up to Mike. I assume this is because she assumed I might miss the extensive use of English on the shopfront but would settle into a comfortable rapport with the staff once I was inside. Oh how wrong she was.

The first question I was asked was whether I wanted a shampoo. Now being from the school of $8 haircuts as I am I was somewhat thrown by this question. Was this intended as a slight? Perhaps the Japanese in their politeness offered to clean one’s hair rather than just to point out it had things growing in it. Deciding there was unlikely to be a second meaning to the question I declined. I’m sure this would only have further ‘enhanced’ the experience that was my haircut but as I explained to Rui (who was still there at this point) I just didn’t feel ready for people to wash my hair. Something to look forward to for next time.

Having purchased my haircut in advance (it seems in Japan one pays before one’s hair is cut) I was abandoned by Rui to the waiting couch where, given the choice of a variety of magazines all in Japanese, I opted to read the Herald on my phone. Such is my life. However, no sooner did the text version load up that I was informed I was ready to be ‘seen’. Well, I’m not sure if that’s actually what they said. They gestured for me to take a seat but I have assumed that when you pay $20 for a haircut you are not just given a haircut, you are ‘seen’.

Now it was at this point that the language barrier really became a problem. Normally when I go to get my haircut I will ask the British backpacker if they can trim a bit off the top or, if I’m feeling really adventurous, for a short back and sides. Unfortunately I know neither of these two phrases in Japanese. Instead I asked for the barber to make my hair mijikai or shorter. So far, so good. However, it was the follow up question, which I interpreted as ‘You just paid $20 for a haircut, don’t you want something a little more flash?’, which caused more of an issue. I just repeated that short would be fine. At least I think that’s what I said. About halfway through my haircut I started to think that what the barber had actually asked was ‘The last time I cut a white man’s hair it was when British musicians toured in 1983. Is it OK if I make you look like a member of WHAM?’ To which I had replied, ‘Of course.’ But I digress.

Now a great deal of my experience revolved around the action of the hair cutting so I will do my best to describe it for you. Please be aware that my paltry words cannot do the actions of the man who cut my hair justice as he was more artist than hairdresser. The type of man for whom the title hair designer is not just a wank. As I have noted already I am used to having my hair cut cheaply. This normally entails a few minutes with a pair of scissors followed by generous use of the electric shaver. What I was treated to in Japan was hairdressing of what I can only describe as the Wu Shu School of Hairdressing. The barber did not so much cut my hair as convinced my hair that it was no longer needed atop my head. With sweeping hand movements that would have made Jet Li proud I sat transfixed as the scissors flew back and forth across my scalp.

Which is not to say that all went according to plan. As I said, at one point I felt like I was being given the type of haircut that was popular for a brief period during the 80s and is now seen only in those awful photos of models (and I use the term loosely) that often adorn the walls of lesser hairdressers in Australia. This was because while the grandmaster was doing an excellent job removing my hair from the top and sides of my head he didn’t seem all that interested in the back of my head. Thoughts rushing through my head, I desperately tried to think of how I could ask ‘Can I please not have a mullet?’ in Japanese. All to no avail of course as the words just wouldn’t come. Indeed with what I assumed was the end of the haircut rapidly approaching I contented myself with the fact I can run pretty fast and would be able to make it back home quickly where hopefully Rui could at least return some of my dignity.

However, no sooner was I planning on making a break for it than the shaving cream came out. Before I could move the sides of my head and the back of my neck were covered and a razor of the kind I have only ever seen on David’s The Demon Barber of Fleet Street poster came out. Another tidbit of personal information is probably in order here. It is one of my secret shames that I have never used an actual razor to shave. Since high school I have relied on the power of electricity to help me achieved what other, greater, men can accomplish with cold steel. One could say razors fill me with a certain sense of trepidation. And not just when they are wielded by me. I’m not sure if I let out a girly squeak as my man brought the blade to bear but I could certainly believe that’s what I did. Luckily for me his skill with a pair of scissors were matched with a razor and I was more at ease, if still a little uncomfortable to have another man shave me.

When this was over I was given back my glasses and presented with my new self. My hair is now much shorter than it was before I left, in fact my hair is probably too short. But I’m not really one to complain. Although normally I’m annoyed if I don’t get what I wanted when I paid $8, for some reason the experience of a Japanese hair cut more than made up for any shortcomings in the finished product. And besides, it could have been worse. I could still look like George Michael.