I find out that these men really, really do know what they're doing. The man washes out my highlights in three increments, starting from the back of my neck so that the highlights on the top are actually lighter, giving my hair great variation. My cut was fabulous too. I was initially worried, so I looked through a hairdressing book to find pictures of hairdressing tools and found a picture of a razor. I pointed to this tool and then to my head. The kuaför then nodded in agreement and pointed to my developing mullet and made razor sounds. He knows he needs to razor off my mullet! Wow. I'm shocked at how easily it was to communicate what I wanted despite not having even one word in common! I can easily recall having to spell out what I wanted to hairdressers, who speak the same damn language as I do.
I walk out of the salon with a lot less lira in my wallet (it was pretty expensive, but please don't ask how much, I'm trying to forget about it) and a whole lot blonder. Barbie has got nothing on me. I don't think I've ever been this blonde before (except for that one time I tried highlighting my hair myself, fell asleep outside in the sun and my hair was as white as the white side of Cruella Deville's hair...and I spent the summer trying to undo the damage. Remember that, Mom?). But THIS time my hair actually looks nice, and I have gotten over the shock of ALL of it being so very blonde.
The only downfall with having blonde hair here is that it is so very rare, so it attracts attention. Most Turkish people have fabulous olive complexions and shiny dark hair, so it's a bit rare to spot a pale complected blonde girl. I do get looked at, and occasionally stared at. It's not a huge problem, and I must admit that sometimes I feel like a bit of a celebrity...that said, there are certain times with I go celebrity incognito (hat and sunglasses) to blend in with the crowd...it's amazing what a difference it makes.
|Do we stand out?|