My Little Japanese Hairy Cut Place

I know the title of this post doesn't make any sense and it doesn't have to do with anything but the fact that it sounds a bit like the title of a song, "My Little Japanese Cigarette Case." That, and the fact that I got my haircut today. There are several barbershops and salons around my place – each demarcated by the typical barber’s swirly column. This one looked reasonably cheap and relatively busy.

Getting a haircut is always an interesting adventure, whether at home or in Japan. When you walk in, you look like one person, and when you walk out, you look like different version of one’s self. Sometimes haircuts turn out well and sometimes not so good -- the outcome depends quite a bit on the person cutting the hair. It’s always a bit of a crapshoot when getting a haircut. Even when you find that barber who seems to “know” how to cut your hair, something will happen down the road where maybe his taste begins to change, or he has a bad day, or maybe he gets bored with helping the same people. Eventually, something doesn’t go quite right and the time comes to move on to a new barber. Of course, as Seinfeld has taught us, we cannot go to another barber within the same shop. In order to avoid any bad hair vibes, the new barber needs to be as far away from the predecessor as possible.

When I first arrive, I believe that any style of cut will be an improvement on my shaggy and usually long-overdue hair. I always watch intently as the barber begins to work. They usually start with the back and sides. After about a minute or so, I’ll think to myself, “I hope I don’t end up looking like this,” or “I hope he’s not almost done,” or “I think he’s missing some, I hope he gets that part.” I try to preoccupy myself by looking at all of the barberial equipment on the counter in front of me, which usually rests inside a vat of that delicious looking, blue-freezie coloured antiseptic liquid. Gradually, the work takes shape, and the hair looks good. Then comes the tension of, “why doesn’t he stop cutting?” “He’s going to ruin it.” “It looks fine the way it is!”

Getting my first haircut in Japan is like saying goodbye to a piece of Canada in me. I no longer have a Canadian haircut; I have a Japanese haircut. When I return to Canada, I will say, “look at my Japanese haircut.”

In any event, the cut turned out good and it was a pretty typical haircut experience with the addition of exceptional service and care. Not knowing the language very well, asking for anything in Japan is always awkward for me. I think it was fairly obvious that I came to the shop for a haircut. When he asked how I wanted it cut, I told him I knew very little Japanese and that “watashi no sensei desu” -- (I am a teacher). This seemed to be all he needed because when he finished, I looked somewhat like a teacher. I also felt good knowing that I didn’t need to start looking for a new place to get my hair cut.

Tomorrow I will be catching a bus to Aizu to see a couple of festivals and visit some friends. Maybe I’ll get to do some sight seeing as well. I’ve enjoyed writing the last few posts, but I might not get to post much for the next few days – or if I do, they might be a bit brief.