I left Amsterdam in early January with freshly cut hair. Having a short hairstyle usually means frequent maintenance. And so I was quite attached to my awesome hair dresser called Arthur (for the insiders: Kinki Kappers Haarlemmerstraat)
But in Asia there’s no Arthur.
And after neglecting my hair for over 4 months I had to admit that it looked horrible. What was once a fashionable, neat looking hair cut was now more of a overgrown garden.
Dispair inspires stupid decisions. And so I walked into a local barbershop. And showed the man the image below:
The man turned on the trimmer, bravely shaved off half of my hair, and then asked: “finish?”
Wait. What?? Finished?! To my knowledge he had just begun! What about cutting the rest of my hair? What I about thinning out those thick curls on the top? What about making it look actually any where close to the picture I showed him?
I pointed out that he should cut the rest of my hair too, after which he started like a maniac randomly cutting left and right. This man had clearly no clue what he was doing.
I paid 2 dollars for the worst hair cut ever. And I wished for Arthur.
Two weeks later I met Marce, an awesome girl from Chili, in the dorm where I was sleeping. Marce was not only great company, she also happened to be a fabulous hairdresser! She travelled with a pair of scissors and so I sat down on the rooftop terrace where she saved my hair from further shame :))