The Beauty Salon
Men out there – stay with me, you may be able to relate to this more than you think. The salon. The definition of this word is “an establishment where a hairdresser or beautician conducts trade.” It depends how you see it I suppose – I know many a kaku who loves going to the salon. In fact, in Mumbai and Pune this is a totally normal thing for women of all ages to do. They go to the salon in groups, in their flowy kaftans and sunglasses and get all sorts of things done – bleaching their eyebrows/waxing their fingers etc.
In fact, I think in all honesty that Indian women take care of themselves far better than women in the UK. There is a simple reason as to why this is the case. Money. If I want to have my eyebrows waxed, I have to shell out between £8-£12. Bear in mind this is something I can do at home for FREE, whereas in India it is normally below £1. On that basis if I lived in India, I am convinced that I would look like Madhuri Dixit but if I visit the salon as often here where I live then I would be beautiful AND poor.
This Covid lockdown particularly in March-May had a huge toll on the beautification industry, most salons were closed, you couldn’t even get a haircut, and it really showed on people when their hair started looking like overgrown Oompa Loompa wigs, especially for the men. I could tell people were getting really affected by it, and make no mistake I take full pride in my appearance but in all honestly visiting the salon is my worst nightmare. The main reason being – I am not a small talker. By that, I mean I am rubbish at small talking and going to a salon requires far too much of it.
The second is reason is because of a rather weird experience I had with my aai years ago. We had gone to some random posh salon in Mayfair, London for a “Cleopatra Spa Experience” – what we didn’t realise was that this was a “couples’” experience. By couples they meant partners in love experience. Not aai and daughter confused experience. We were met by an equally confused spa lady who handed us a “welcome cocktail” and showed us to the “Cleopatra Room” – a candle-lit room with a pair of silver thaalis piled with “Egyptian mineral clay” that we had to “massage each-other with”. It still hadn’t hit us that this was a couples’ experience so we both stood cluelessly looking at the plates wondering what kind of obscene place we had come to. In the end we stood in opposite corners of the room rubbing this clay into our own faces. The confused spa lady came to “see how we were doing” and only when she said we were due for our couples’ mineral wrap treatment in “the Love Room” did we understand what was happening. I think the spa lady realised what was happening too and was nice enough to let us walk sheepishly out of the salon as quickly as we could. I think it’s safe to say that my mother is equally as clueless as I am when it comes to salons and spas.
The Staff
At every salon there are always mainly four different characters. We have “Register Girl”. Register Girl stands at the counter at the entrance to the salon. She normally stares into space, answers the phone. I always get a little annoyed with Register Girl because whenever I come in for an appointment, I have to spell my name about five times, the conversation goes somewhat like this:
Me: Heya, it’s Miss Patwordaaaaaaan for a haircut and blowdry at 3pm?
Register Girl: What’s that love? Patwa….?
Me: PAT WOHRR DANNNNN
Register Girl: Do it again?
Me: PATWA DANNNNN
Register Girl: Oh ri-nah do it again?
Me: P for Peter A for Alpha T for Tango W for Water A for Angle R for Roger D for Donkey H for Hand A for Apple N for dumbass, sorry I mean Number
Register Girl: …..OH YEA here we go right this way Natasha
Apart from Register Girl there is Shy Girl. Shy Girl tends to be a junior employee and she never says anything. I always feel sorry for this one as she always has to do the hard jobs like sweep up the hair on the floor from everybody’s haircuts, or go and make cups of tea for the customers. Shy Girl has potential but I find it always best to leave her alone, it’s one less person to small talk with so I won’t complain.
Wax Monster is by far the most terrifying employee at the salon. I have never been a fan of waxing, whoever came up with this must have been some sort of woman-hating sadist and for some reason the only woman who does the leg and arm waxing for customers is a rather large and thuggish looking lady. Wax monsters always have the expression of an angry bulldog plastered across their face and they have terrifying names like Marlene or Krupa - think of Miss Trunchbull from Matilda. The actual waxing process is a painful one that we will delve into a little later on into this blog.
The final character to come across in the salon is the Saleswoman. They always tempt customers into buying unnecessary extra creams and lotions and oil that do…well, absolutely nothing. I still don’t have a clue what on earth “Moroccan argon oil” is supposed to do to me but all I know is that these bottles are placed strategically next to the counter and Saleswoman basically says “if you add this to your bill then you can look fantastic for WEEKS”. It’s a lie. Oh, and each bottle is at least £40. Avoid making eye contact with Saleswoman unless it is payday and you have money to blow.
Haircuts
Nowadays people seem to get haircuts every month, it’s a normal thing to just walk in off the street and have a haircut only to come back out looking exactly the same. Actually, men deserve a lot of credit for coming out of a barbershop looking as if they have actually HAD a haircut. When my aai was little a haircut was almost like a family function. One barber would come to their home in Mumbai and the whole family would get a haircut from this one barber. There was no concept of layers, no perming, and definitely no highlights. There was just one haircut which could range from a boy’s haircut to the infamous “bowl cut”. I wish things were still that simple. As you may have realised, I do not enjoy visiting salons unless absolutely necessary and haircuts are still one of those necessary things. There was indeed a phase when I decided defiantly that I didn’t need to waste money getting a haircut when I only wanted to cut off an inch of the length; I decided to trust my brother with a pair of scissors and a ruler to do the job for me… Let’s just say I will never be doing that again. Even if all the hairdressers in the world went extinct, I will still never let my brother anywhere near my hair. He ended up cutting 3 inches off the length and it was diagonal. Naturally, I didn’t speak to him for the rest of the week.
So after that fiasco I went back to visiting the salon for haircuts. The first mistake I always make is sitting on the sofa waiting for my appointment and flicking through all the hair magazines, totally panicking in case the hairdresser turns out to be some fashion-forward runway celeb hairdresser who won’t listen to me and will chop all my hair off. The most irritating part of this process is the way the hairdresser does not shut. Up. They always start by asking how your day is or how your weekend is looking etc.; but then the conversation goes to more deeper questions like “what do you do for work” or “are you going on a holiday” soon. Sometimes I don’t even know the answers to these questions and start daydreaming to myself “Natasha what do you do for work? Are you going on a holiday? Why is this hairdresser taking years to cut your hair? Is it dark outside? Are you hungry?”. You would think that once they start blow-drying your hair they would stop talking, but no, they just talk even louder over the blow-drying noise which means I have to answer them while shouting too. Imagine small talking with a total stranger – but shouting at them.
Facials
They say that facials are supposed to make you relaxed, it’s a beautification treatment involving a woman squeezing and squishing your face yes, but I am not sure where the relaxed part comes in. What things make me relaxed? I would nail it down to some good music, a glass of wine, maybe even a decent book. Facials on the other hand give me anxiety. I mean the idea is nice, but in all my years of getting them done I have never thought at the end “I am relaxed”. More like – I paid for someone to make me feel very sleepy.
The process starts with walking into a room with dim lights and some rather seductive slow jazz music, which is already unsettling because it feels as if the room is trying to forcibly make me calm and quiet which is totally opposite to my nature. The rest of the process involves lying on a very small looking bed with a towel wrapped around your head (I’ve never understood that bit). Just as I am about to close my eyes a face appears above me – it’s the facial woman asking me if I’m going anywhere nice on holiday. At this moment I realise that hairdresser IS facial woman. Thankfully she doesn’t talk for long and for the next hour she uses her perfectly manicured nails to squeeze my nose and rub “patchouli oil infused lotion” on my cheeks or some other extravagant sounding concoction on my forehead.
I have no idea what any of these things are supposed to do but apparently, they make you “radiant” (and anxious yes). I’m not big on public displays of affection let alone allowing strangers to rub things into my face so at this point I feel like facial woman has definitely overstepped the mark. Before I know it, an hour has passed and facial woman leaves me to “relax for 10 minutes”. This part worries me – it’s the end of the facial and you are supposed to take 10 minutes to just lie there alone in the room with a towel over your face before you sort yourself out and come out to pay. The thing is – I’m at the point now where it’s so warm and cosy that I don’t want to leave the room. I don’t want to face the world outside; all I want to do is go to bed. So I always emerge from the facial room feeling cranky, sleepy and just downright bratty. But I do look radiant. Radiant as a sunbeam. And I bloody well should – I’ve paid £50 for this.
House of Wax
“House of Wax” is a 2005 slasher movie and as described by IMDb it is about “a group of teens unwittingly stranded near a strange wax museum and soon must fight to survive”. This is also more or less an accurate description of what happens when you get your arms or legs waxed at a salon.
Ah the things that women have to do to be perceived as beautiful. I’ve come to realise that while I do wear t-shirts and sometimes skirts – I also live in a country where we barely see a sun ray, it’s mostly cold and windy so we need layers of hair on our arms and legs to trap air for insulation. I think that’s a pretty scientific fact to back up my utter fear of waxing. My last memory of waxing was in Pune, one of my friends had convinced me that “we are going to a salon”, apparently that’s what people do for fun. After clinging on for dear life in a rickshaw we arrived at a small salon and walked in to be greeted by Wax Woman herself (the scary staff member in charge of waxing). At this point I just missed my aai and I wanted to go home. Wax Woman was built for one job and one job only – to rip your hair off. I don’t know if she went to the gym or what but she had biceps the size of horse legs. After whimpering quietly, I followed Wax Woman to the wax room where I was told to wear some hideous little dress made of curtains so she could see my arms and legs.
Just like the facial bed I was made to lie down on the waxing table, awaiting my doom. I was breathing as if I was about to go into labour. The bright light – the whirring from the wax heating machine, her horse biceps – it was all too much for me. I could smell the wax as it was warming up in a machine next to me, and I watched alarmingly as she used a wooden spatula to apply the hot, scorching wax to my leg. All I could think of at this point was “Oh my god woman, TURN THE TEMPERATURE DOWN THIS WAX IS GOING TO BURN MY SKIN OFF”. But before I could ask her to do that, she applied a small cloth to the wax on my leg and ripped it off.
Nothing can describe the pain that was searing all the way from my leg to the capillaries in my eyeballs. I was convinced she was enjoying watching me in pain because she said “Tai, itka garam nahi ahe, over soon ma’am”. She lied. Over soon ma’am my foot. It took what seemed like hours. I have to admit that by the end of this horror scene I had arms and legs that were as smooth as baby skin, it even felt as if I had lost some weight. I felt free and sprightly, I could feel the wind roll over me – I bet this is how all those glamourous Marathi actresses feel when they shoot beauty commercials with the fan blowing in their faces.
I’ll admit it was worth it, particularly in India where it’s hot every second of every day and you cannot afford to cover up with eskimo-coats and thick jeans. However, the next time I visit India I will be actively be avoiding any friends who want to drag me to get my legs waxed. I choose life. I choose hope.
Hanging on by a Thread
I dare you to find me any man who can sit through 5 minutes of eyebrow threading without crying tears of pain and sorrow. Threading – another medieval form of punishment when people hadn’t yet invented razors or compassion. Threading involves another terrifying woman standing over your face using a couple of strings to twist around and snap off rogue hairs on your face. I have no idea how they do it or why they do it or why anybody gets it done. Imagine someone taking a needle and sharply dragging it across your forehead – this is threading. Remember that bicycle accident you had as a child when you fell off it and hit and cut your head when you fell? – That was threading.
Apparently, threading is supposed to “define your eyebrows and open up your face”, that was the defending statement a salon employee had given me before I was about to run out of the door. I have to say for some women it really does make a difference, it actually makes your face appear clearer, but for me I’d rather my face stay furry, floofy and hairy if it means that I don’t risk someone ripping my skin off by accident during a routine threading appointment.
Defined eyebrows or not – the problem with visiting salons to prim and prep yourself, is that you have to KEEP going. It’s like an addiction. Being a person who is already heavily addicted to chocolate and bhadang I simply cannot afford another vice. Maybe one day in the future I’ll be able to overcome my fears and start doing these woman things often, I can picture myself waltzing out of a salon in my mid-forties with glossy locks, glowing shiny skin and diamante nails. Although I have a feeling that I’ll be probably be slaving away in some shopping centre in my trainers with my three animalistic children instead.
I have come to the conclusion that maybe I was just born in a different era. Why can’t we just have no nonsense, no fuss simple rituals. Even little things like buying a perfume – there are SO many choices out there now, in eccentrically shaped bottles and with names like “Powerful for Women” or “Men’s Tiger Caveman Sport”. Back in the day my baba’s family had one perfume called Charlie or “Eau de Cologne” or “eyoudeecolon” to them and the whole family used this one perfume for every function. Now that’s teamwork. The point is that while beautification, self-care and grooming are important I think I’d be happier with a simple bowl cut and a face mask at home.
I might pass on the Eyoudeecolon though!
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