Sometimes I get restless and usually when I feel like things are out of my control or I need a change, I do something impulsive. Like move to France.
Last Friday, I was feeling restless and decided to brave the pirate waters of foreign hair salons for a trim and some layers. I tried to prepare as best I could, but couldn't find the colloquial French word for 'layers' in my French-to-English dictionary and so decided that asking for different "levels" in my hair would have to suffice, hoping with mime and emphatic facial expressions I would get the point across. The stylist (who was young, cute with a fashionable hairstyle herself - in short, trustworthy) understood I wanted layers and even provided the correct term for it, "degrade". Believing that my French was working, I went on to specify I wanted 2 inches trimmed all around and also pointed out the level at which I wanted the shortest layer to be. She then cut off everything beneath that. She literally made what I wanted to be my shortest layer, my longest. A good 5-6 inches. The woman owes me a scarf. On the plus side it was one of the cheaper haircuts I've gotten at 18 euros (roughly $25), but maybe that's because the stylists are fresh out of L'Institut de Paul Mitchell.
Actually I like it. Despite the initial shock, I was toying with the idea of chopping it all off (again) anyway. So maybe I should be thanking her or finding the French Yelp online. I'm not all that particular about my hair and am a big believer that 'it grows back, so let's not worry about it'. But I wouldn't recommend attempting a foreign salon for the faint of heart, or the high maintenance. Adventure is out there!
