Hair today, Ivana tomorrow!

Are you a sadist who likes inflicting pain on people? Do you like to ignore what other people say to you and do exactly as you please? Then you are ideally suited to a career as a hairdresser in Dubai!

As I hadn’t had my hair cut or coloured since May, I have been in dire need of a hair overhaul for some time. Indeed I have actually cancelled four hair appointments here because of working way too late and missing them completely. To the point where the hairdresser refused to take a booking from me!

This led me to walking in to the salon off the street (well, off the souk) yesterday, and asking for an impromptu cut and colour. I partly blame myself for the outcome as I would never take this approach in the UK. Without wishing to sound too precious – hair is important, especially when you’re working and need to give off some semblance of professionalism, and cannot wear a hat.

A brief resume of the conversations (I use this term loosely as it implies two way communication) I had during my 90 minutes in the salon.

Me: I’d like highlights as I have now, two tones, and I like the cut, I’d like it trimmed.
Him: YES MADAM, HIGHLIGHTS.
Me: I can see you’ve only mixed up one colour there and I aksed for two.
Him: YES MADAM, HIGHLIGHTS.
Me: That looks like just bleach to me and not a colour or tint. I asked for two colours.
Him: YES MADAM, HIGHLIGHTS.
Me: (Now completely resigned to not getting what I want) Ok, you’re not putting it on properly, it’s nowhere near my roots.
Him: YES MADAM, HIGHLIGHTS.
Me: (Maybe I can wear a hat. Or headscarf. Well, I am desperate for a colour, how bad can it be)
Cut to an hour later when colour has been removed. It’s very blonde, as I knew it would be. That’s what you get when you have a load of bleach shoved on your head rather than the two tone tint you requested.

Me: I like the length, I’d just like it tidied up please.
Him: YES MADAM, NOT TOO SHORT
Me: That’s quite short.
Him: YES MADAM, NOT TOO SHORT
Me: Really, that’s too short. My hair is too fine to be that short at the front – and I don’t want a fringe.
Him: YES MADAM, NOT TOO SHORT

Then follows a hilarious interlude when he tries to make me put my head upside down whilst he is drying it. It is already the size of a small country and I know that if I do this it will be even bigger.

He sprays virtually an entire can of Ellnett hairspray onto my hair whilst drying it with brushes the size of oil drums. My hair can now be seen from space.

Me: (Frantically trying to smooth it down) My hair is too short and way too big!
Him: WHY YOU FLATTEN IT, BIIIIIG HAIR IS GOOD!

Me: Well, at this point I was running out of the salon, throwing money at them and vowing never to return. My hair is so big it nearly touched the roof of the car.

On arrival back home the boy vowed that it was gorgeous, bless him. But did concede with a smile that it was ‘different to how it normally is’ yes – I don’t normally look like Ivana Trump for god’s sake! I got up to use the toilet in the night and it had flattened a little. I now look like Heather Locklear circa 1980.