I budgeted $100 CDN or $2500 TWD for my new hairdo, which was expected to last about six months. Basically it's a permanent but instead of introducing waves to the hair, they are ironing them out. I entered the busy hair salon early on a Saturday morning. All chatter and activity froze for a moment as the women turned to watch me take a seat. When the Mandarin sing-song once again filled the air, I heard "Laoshi" and "Janada" and knew I would be the main topic of discussion for the morning.
80% of the foreigners in Taiwan are from Canada. Most of them are from Vancouver. I haven't met another who had their hair straightened, in the local style. I was just ready for something different, I had always wanted long, straight hair and the humidity was doing something strange to my curls. I'm not sure what they thought of me for trying to look like them.
I was a bit alarmed when the stylist Margo had recommended whipped out a straight razor. She set about slicing the ends off my shoulder-length hair and I shivered, realizing I had sacrificed myself to her whims, unable to communicate in anything but body language and gestures. Oh well. I'm not a fussy person when it comes to my hair. And at the time, having just broken up with The Norseman, I felt the basic need to do something dramatic. I think it's therapeutic and maybe a bit symbolic or instinctual to want to cut your hair after ending a relationship. At least it seems to be, for me. Some of my most startling new looks have come about that way. I stared into the mirror and pictured myself with a short, choppy, angled do and after a few seconds of flirtation with the idea, decided against it. I wouldn't know how to communicate my wishes anyway. Margo had called ahead for me and told this lovely young woman what I wanted. Poker-straight hair that would stand up to the Taiwanese summer without a hint of frizz.
I sat with my hair in foil flatteners, read my book, texted my friend Sydney and waited for the style to set. The stylist showed me the box of Japanese straightening product, pointed at the clock and held up 4 fingers. I nodded, as Margo had warned me to clear my schedule for the afternoon. I was served a delicious sweet tea and rice cookies, and I think I even shut my eyes for a few minutes as I sat in the sunbeam at the front of the salon.
When the timer buzzed I was ushered to the sink where the pungent chemical was washed from my hair. Then I was put back in the chair, where I watched as the stylist blow dried and ironed the hair that had miraculously gone from near-Afro to shiny, straight, and - could it be? Heavy. I was reminded of when I wore a long dark towel on my head as a child and pretended I was Cher.
I gave her a hefty tip and headed to the subway to celebrate my new style with a new outfit. I couldn't find anything, of course, because Asian clothing is very rarely sized to fit even a slim woman from a Western culture. I decided to grab a Starbucks coffee and head to the bookstore instead.
After ordering my tall Americano, I checked my text messages. Sydney had replied. A quiet blonde also from Ontario, she too was turning 35 and wanted to mark it with something of significance. We made a date to meet at Carnegies, sort of a Taiwanese Hard Rock Cafe, for a late dinner that evening. I could feel my post break-up mood starting to lift as I mentally flipped through things in my closet, deciding what to wear.
Suddenly I realized my coffee was not appearing before me. I leaned over the counter and saw the three baristas huddled just out of sight. They were giggling and pointing at me.
I started to feel a little foolish. Were they laughing at my new Asian hairstyle?
"Coffee, please?" I chirped, uncertainly.
The girl who had taken my money materialized in front of me, on my side of the counter, smiling and holding up her camera. "You take picture with me, yes?" She nodded and grinned maniacally.
Okay...whatever. As long as it gets me my coffee...
As we posed and her friend took our photo, my new barista friend mumbled something in Mandarin with some English words thrown in. "Striptease!" "G I Jane!"
For a short time in 2003 a photo of me and my barista hung in a Starbucks in Taipei. I suspect it had the incorrect caption assigned to it, noting Demi Moore's visit to their establishment.
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The next day, a Sunday, I hopped on the Mass Rapid Transit (MRT) or subway and rode it all the way to the trendy district of town, Hsimenting. Sydney met me at the station, having travelled from the opposite end of the city where she lived in a large, quiet apartment of her own. I thought it would be incredibly lonely not to have any roommates but she seemed to be enjoying it, having come from an extremely large family living in a tiny house in Nova Scotia.
"So? What's it gonna be?" I asked her. "Tattoo or piercing?" At dinner the previous night, after a few cocktails, we had both decided to get one of the light, Asian pieces that look more like pen-and-ink outlines than tattoos. In the sober light of day, I had decided against the idea. Sydney was still committed to something but she didn't know what.
Walking the gauntlet of tattoo and piercing parlours in Hsimen, we pointed at the pictures in the window and I tried to imagine them on conservative, subdued Sydney. Well, every quiet person has a wild side, they say. If Sydney wanted to fly the freak flag with a huge tramp stamp on her tailbone, to take a yet-to-be-discovered lover by surprise, so be it. But we were going to make sure the artist had experience, an impressive portfolio, and clean equipment.
An hour later, the adrenalin seemed to have settled somewhat in Sydney. "I think I'm going to get a belly piercing instead," she announced. I agreed that it was a good foray into the wild world of body art without getting too crazy. She chose the jewellery, leaned back on the bar stool and let the artist clean and pierce her flat white abdomen.
Then, like a graceful waterfall, she slid to the floor.
"I told her no look down!" the artist declared, before helping me to lift my friend to the waiting chaise lounge. I sat with her til she woke up and regained her wits.
The next day at work, Sydney couldn't bend at the waist or sit down. I wonder if she still has that piercing today.
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