Baby's First (Italian) Haircut

Friday afternoon, I left work to get my first real Italian haircut. I showed up at the salon with a picture of the style I liked, ready to brave the language barrier. I showed up on time for the appointment, only to find out I was in the wrong place. After a quick call to Timoty at the other salon by the same name around the corner, I was on my way. He rushed down to where I was to escort me to the correct location.

Once there, I was offered acqua frizzante (I still think it tastes like alka seltzer) and led to the hair washing station where woman #1 washed my hair. From there, I was escorted to the stylist. Timoty, serving as my translator, asked how much I wanted off. Crap. The one thing I didn’t prepare was the metrics conversion. 2 inches? I showed them both with my fingers what 2 inches looked like. They nodded, seeming on board with the plan. I continued, ready to tell them how I wanted it styled, and was interrupted with, “No, no, no… You tell us the length, bella. The stylist chooses the style. Makes sense, no?” I left my photo hidden in my purse so as to avoid further embarrassment and crossed my fingers that the Italian stylist would deliver.

After an hour and a half of the stylist working his magic, I was taken back to the hair washing station where woman #2 shampooed and conditioned my hair for the second time. From there, woman #2 walked me to a styling area and dried my hair just enough to get the moisture out. She ushered me back to the stylist for a few final touches.

I thought I was a finished product at that point, and ready to go home. So naturally, I was surprised when woman #3 took my hand and steered me away from the cash register and back toward a chair. She dried my hair even more and ran one of those amazing salon quality straighteners through one final time. The haircut is amazing (see evidence below) and not just because it was in such bad shape before. On my walk home, I almost fell off the curb twice and walked in front of at least 3 vespas because I was so distracted by my new style in the shop windows. Sad, but true. At least I’m not embarrassed to admit it…

Like any girl with a new hair cut will tell you, I just had to go out afterwards. A few friends humored me, and we made late reservations for Chez Lugo, a trendy spot in Livorno. It came highly recommended, and while it wasn’t bad by any stretch of the imagination, it wasn’t anything special and felt slightly Americanized. Nevertheless, it was an opportunity to flip my hair around in front of an audience. At the end of dinner, Drew introduced us to Ponce, a drink created in Livorno. It’s a pretty disgusting mix of espresso, some type of very strong alcohol and lots and lots of sugar. Impressed by our knowledge of the elusive Livornese drink, the waiter brought us a free round of grappa. Rick Steve labeled grappa as Italy’s firewater, and I must agree. (Read the full write up here: http://www.ricksteves.com/plan/destinations/italy/grappa.htm) I breathed in a little sniff to gauge what I was getting myself in to, and my nose burned. A tiny sip, taken only to be polite, burned the whole way down and for minutes afterwards.

So, lessons learned on Friday:
1. In Italy, the hair stylist chooses the style. Go figure.
2. Watch where you’re walking , no matter how enticing your reflection might be.
3. Grappa, no matter what the Italians might tell you, is not your friend.