I felt a bit melancholy yesterday, so to avoid wallowing I stuck on a bit of Aretha Franklin and pulled my inner diva together. The only thing for it was to go and get my hair done. My locks were long overdue, as I'd opted for a myriad* of London leaving dos over basic self-maintenance and I was thus sporting roots that would've made Cruella de Vil proud.
I booked an appointment at Vanaddict after a spot of googling because it fulfilled the key requirement of being next to a major landmark in Andheri East (see my traumas with taxi drivers). The salon was positioned on the first floor of an average-looking apartment building, but I am learning swiftly not to judge a book by its cover.
Pushing the door open I found a little oasis of white walls, leather armchairs and forest noises with a massive queue in reception. I was ushered to a seat and the consultation commenced. I have never been very good at directing hairdressers at the best of times - I have a back catalogue of questionable hairstyles to prove it - and now there was the added dimension of my only knowing five words of Hindi.
Thank the lord for the receptionist and her perfect English, as my rather fabulous stylist Mohad was soon toiling away. The highlighting seemed to go without a hitch. That was until he washed off the dye and I looked like this:
I booked an appointment at Vanaddict after a spot of googling because it fulfilled the key requirement of being next to a major landmark in Andheri East (see my traumas with taxi drivers). The salon was positioned on the first floor of an average-looking apartment building, but I am learning swiftly not to judge a book by its cover.
Pushing the door open I found a little oasis of white walls, leather armchairs and forest noises with a massive queue in reception. I was ushered to a seat and the consultation commenced. I have never been very good at directing hairdressers at the best of times - I have a back catalogue of questionable hairstyles to prove it - and now there was the added dimension of my only knowing five words of Hindi.
Thank the lord for the receptionist and her perfect English, as my rather fabulous stylist Mohad was soon toiling away. The highlighting seemed to go without a hitch. That was until he washed off the dye and I looked like this:
Pure chav Barbie with obligatory ginger hue and random dark bits. Mohad disappeared, I presumed to guffaw in the back room, and I just stared at myself.
Well I wanted to be blonde.
Could I get away with it?
No, you're not Lindsay Lohan.
This is actually hilarious.
No it's not.
How am I going to get it fixed?!
Just as I was concluding some basic arithmetic in my head to establish if I could afford to fly back to the UK for a day to get it fixed in Soho if I went on Jeremy Kyle, my delightful hairdresser reappeared with a little pot. I must have looked like I was going to cry as he went running off to reception to get our translator.
'Is it meant to be this...blonde' I whimpered. The irony of going into my Soho hairdresser for years and asking to be as blonde as possible was completely lost on me at this point. 'No' she said eyeing me warily, 'He still has to put the dye on.'
Hallelujah!
I'd clearly missed this stage at every other hairdresser for the past 10 years. This is the point where London hairdressers tactfully say that they are going to apply a 'toner'. What they actually mean is that you look like the offspring of Lily Savage and a zebra, and they are desperately trying to rescue the situation and possibly their career.
'Ash?' Mohad asked me pointing to the swatch that he'd quietly slipped into my lap whilst I was gaping open mouthed at my reflection. 'Yes' I gasped nodding vigorously.
*Further to a grammatical disagreement I had on Facebook the other day, for anyone in doubt, myriad is both a noun and an adjective so if I want to use it as above I damn well shall. To all those 'traditionalists' shaking their heads in disgust; language grows and develops with time otherwise we'd all be speaking like Chaucer and to be clear, the word in question was actually a noun in English before it was used as an adjective. I win.
Well I wanted to be blonde.
Could I get away with it?
No, you're not Lindsay Lohan.
This is actually hilarious.
No it's not.
How am I going to get it fixed?!
Just as I was concluding some basic arithmetic in my head to establish if I could afford to fly back to the UK for a day to get it fixed in Soho if I went on Jeremy Kyle, my delightful hairdresser reappeared with a little pot. I must have looked like I was going to cry as he went running off to reception to get our translator.
'Is it meant to be this...blonde' I whimpered. The irony of going into my Soho hairdresser for years and asking to be as blonde as possible was completely lost on me at this point. 'No' she said eyeing me warily, 'He still has to put the dye on.'
Hallelujah!
I'd clearly missed this stage at every other hairdresser for the past 10 years. This is the point where London hairdressers tactfully say that they are going to apply a 'toner'. What they actually mean is that you look like the offspring of Lily Savage and a zebra, and they are desperately trying to rescue the situation and possibly their career.
'Ash?' Mohad asked me pointing to the swatch that he'd quietly slipped into my lap whilst I was gaping open mouthed at my reflection. 'Yes' I gasped nodding vigorously.
*Further to a grammatical disagreement I had on Facebook the other day, for anyone in doubt, myriad is both a noun and an adjective so if I want to use it as above I damn well shall. To all those 'traditionalists' shaking their heads in disgust; language grows and develops with time otherwise we'd all be speaking like Chaucer and to be clear, the word in question was actually a noun in English before it was used as an adjective. I win.
This is not just a Mumbai thing. It happened to me last month in London. Unfortunately I actually did cry. And only then did he run to fetch the pot of toner! Love the blog :-) x
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