Something I learned about Only's philosophy of travel was that she had a habit of getting a haircut in each country she visited. She was ready to meet whatever version of the local fashion and beauty standard she was presented with on the day - an act of optimism I found delightful. While subjecting one's follicles to the whims of (so-called) "foreign" stylists may not everybody's idea of a fun time, incorporating this tactic into my travels has been a source of (tactile and conceptual) pleasure, not to mention an opportunity to find out more about the culture.
So I was stretching my legs around my local neighbourhood on my first week of Hannover, when I noticed the sign that signaled 'hairdresser', and quickly rearranged my steps. It was modestly decorated with lots of white space, but I could see that every chair was filled, and imagined a small but loyal clientele. I entered the space and waited for one of the employees to pause their work. When one of them did, I encountered a problem so common that I was surprised I hadn't planned for it in advance: they didn't speak English. This can still be saved, I thought, pulling out Google Translate on my smartphone...
But after several slow and awkward attempts to set up an appointment and indicate some preferences through the technology, it became apparent that this was an ineffective way to do things. For one thing, I wanted to be able to communicate that I like tying my hair back, so it needed to be long enough to allow this. This seemed hopelessly convoluted a thing to type into my device. The delay between forming an idea and communicating it dampened my enthusiasm, and after a while I gave up, thanked the employee and walked out.
'Just because I can't get my hair cut at *this* hairdresser doesn't mean that I can't get my hair cut at all,' I comforted myself, and realised there would probably be more English speaking businesses clustered around the central suburbs. So I hopped on the next tram into town, and didn't have to walk for long before I saw a rather upmarket-looking salon, complete with mood lighting, designer carpets and posters of fabulous models.
Inside, the team were friendly and welcoming in a way the previous people hadn't been, and enough of them spoke English so that they could put together the pieces of what this non-local was after. Charmed by my new stylist's soft gaze and energised by complimentary tea, I wondered what they were visualising as they started implementing their vision. Clearly they enjoyed their job and felt relaxed enough to return my smile. If you had asked me I would have guessed that they had not left Europe - there was a surety to their perspective that I find in people who have not experienced other continents first-hand. But that's just a guess.
Having someone stand so close to you and touch your head can communicate a lot, even if they don't speak to you. I guessed that my stylist was a cis woman who was straight, and beauty was an important part of her day. She wore a dark red top made of quality materials, suggesting a bold elegance. Her lined brows were aesthetically pleasing, and I found myself approving of them, even though I don't usually value makeup.
I found myself with a hairstyle that had a lot of volume, and a complexity which I enjoyed. Some stylists don't "get" the waviness of my hair, but I felt this one had been appreciative of its multi-facetedness.
I had allowed myself to be modified by my environment, which made me feel more attuned to the stylistic quirks of Germany. More confident, both in blending in and standing out, I wondered what other aspects of Europe I could embrace.
