"Cheveux" or "chevaux." One letter makes all the difference. The first means "hairs," and the second means "horses." It may have been fear of saying, "Je veux couper mes chevaux," (I want to cut my horses) that caused me to wait nine months between haircuts (yes, my last haircut was back in the States).
Anyways, a haircut in France is quite the experience. First, my hairdresser and his last client tried to guess my nationality. They guessed pretty much every nationality in Western Europe and Scandinavia before giving up.
After that game was done, we went down to business. He didn't want to give me just a haircut but a style. He showed me all kinds of photos of looks that he just "adored." Once we settled on a look, he went to work, shampooing my hair and then cutting it seemingly at random. He even showed me a Spanish haircutting technique, which he called "magic," where hair is twisted vertically to make a tower and then let go while cutting whatever hair the scissors meets in the whirlwind. Apparently this gets rid of dead ends.
My hairdresser was infatuated with his work. He would consistently ooh and ahh at his creation (yes, the words, "oh la la" did come out of his mouth). He then proceeded to ask me about my love life and was entirely convinced that I was going to spend that night winning over men's hearts. He continued to tell me how beautiful I was (in a non-creepy way) and lectured me about how I shouldn't have insecurities. "Can't you see that you are beautiful?" he asked me. "You are beautiful." I guess a self-esteem boost comes with the package ;).
To top everything off, he pretty much made me make claws and growl in the mirror (after all, the haircutting smock I was in was an animal print...it was only natural). Watch out world!
Anyways, a haircut in France is quite the experience. First, my hairdresser and his last client tried to guess my nationality. They guessed pretty much every nationality in Western Europe and Scandinavia before giving up.
After that game was done, we went down to business. He didn't want to give me just a haircut but a style. He showed me all kinds of photos of looks that he just "adored." Once we settled on a look, he went to work, shampooing my hair and then cutting it seemingly at random. He even showed me a Spanish haircutting technique, which he called "magic," where hair is twisted vertically to make a tower and then let go while cutting whatever hair the scissors meets in the whirlwind. Apparently this gets rid of dead ends.
My hairdresser was infatuated with his work. He would consistently ooh and ahh at his creation (yes, the words, "oh la la" did come out of his mouth). He then proceeded to ask me about my love life and was entirely convinced that I was going to spend that night winning over men's hearts. He continued to tell me how beautiful I was (in a non-creepy way) and lectured me about how I shouldn't have insecurities. "Can't you see that you are beautiful?" he asked me. "You are beautiful." I guess a self-esteem boost comes with the package ;).
To top everything off, he pretty much made me make claws and growl in the mirror (after all, the haircutting smock I was in was an animal print...it was only natural). Watch out world!
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