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Let’s not beat around the bush here… July 23, 2006

Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
Hairdressers simply ARE sex-workers by another name. And I just had to visit a hair-brothel yesterday as I had a blog-guest in town and had to look respectable. (Don’t know if I pulled it off.) Hurrah for international blog-meeting. What a jolly little community we are. Always happy to receive a visiting, blogging (one-woman, in this case) delegation. And very nice it was too.

So I needed to visit the sex-workers. The funny thing is, sex-workers are just as hopeless on the service-providing front as every other customer-service-oriented purveyor in Berlin. And not only was there a blogger in town, but there was also a gay thing in Berlin yesterday so there was double the call to be pretty. I trotted out into the scaldingly hot day in the early afternoon. Not earlier, because the Russian and I had popped out for a loaf of bread (or something) on Friday evening and got home at 5 in the morning. (The diversions you meet across your path on the way to the baker’s!) I sauntered up to my regular, old-lady hairdresser-cum-sex-worker. But she’d shut up shop. I was instantly gripped by panic. I shuddered with horror at the thought that perhaps all the sex-workers-cum-hairdressers might shut up shop early on a Saturday. And they do. The horror. Thoughts flashed through my head that I might have to ring GSE and pretend, because of my barnet, that something had come up and I just couldn’t make it. I sweated my way towards more civilised bits of Berlin. Salvation came in the form of a plasticky shopping centre where the sex-workers are obliged to work till 8 like all the other shops. I deleted the drafted SMS about my cactus having droopy-spike syndrome to GSE and strode into the hussies’ parlour.

“A dry cut, please.”

The madam looked gutted that I wanted such a minor transaction, but resignedly showed me to my chair. A bubbly child then got to work on my riah. She insisted on chat, and I had major recourse to my stock conversation with a dyed-in-the-wool Berliner of enthusiastic and hopeful jas. I ja’d for my life, and seemed to get pretty much away with it. The junior sex-worker asked me what I wanted. “Just a bit of slap and tickle or the full bollocks?” “Slap and tickle, please.” Although I didn’t express it as succinctly as that and passively agreed to her improved version of my request.

And she was all fiddly and prissy. Whereas I was hoping she’d hurtle into my locks in a blind frenzy, using that lawn-mower thing with gay abandon, she was all for filtering half a gram of hair through the comb and then pecking at it gently as a French woman eats her food. “I’ll miss both of today’s events at this rate,” I thought, sneeringly, the hatred welling up inside me. “Yes, it is hot, isn’t it?” I fluffed serenely when called upon to do so.

I think this hairdresser-cum-sex-worker was new to the trade. Perhaps I was her first client and she thought, therefore, that I needed to be treated with kid gloves. In her eagerness to please, she was occasionally all fingers and thumbs. And comb. As her comb drew blood from my ear for the eighteenth time, I couldn’t help slightly thinking that this was a touch reminiscent of a poorly-performed sex act. Which is what got me thinking about the sex-work comparison in the first place. And just as that nasty germination of a thought took more concrete form in my pervert’s brain, the madam went and had public sex with a client.

A strapping, handsome, blond gent with no need of a haircut wandered in and asked for a haircut. “Slap and tickle or the bollocks?” “The bollocks.” And she gave her minion, wedging her comb into my earless head at the time, a masterclass in how to satisfy your customers.

As I sat staring at myself in the mirror, the strapping, blond gent took a ludicrously sexual pose in the hair-washing chair. He laid himself back, practically split his shorts – so wide were his legs spread – and placed himself in the madam’s capable hands. She languidly took a big squirt of shampoo and began rubbing it into his head, all the time catching my eye with a look that translated something like, “See what your tightness made you miss?” I was a touch embarrassed to be such a close-range witness to this flagrant show of cranial sex. I thought that this must be what it’s like when groups of businessmen go off on a trip together. All inappropriate intimacy and doing things in front of your friends which you really shouldn’t do. My own lady looked utterly defeated as she tended to my locks in her comparatively unprofessional way. I felt defeated at being so utterly outstudded by the blond hunk.

These visits to the hair-brothel are just about as much as a man can take. If I wasn’t so attached to my riah, I’d welcome baldness with a quiver of glee. Alas. Alas…



1. Bowleserised - July 23, 2006

Hmmmm. I’ve vowed off having my hair cut by a “professional” and I’m much to scared to go to the groovy hair brothels here because I’d end up with a mullet and one of those ugly, ugly fringes that you need the face of a Russian supermodel to pull off… Ick.
That has happened to me, when I “modelled” for the “”Vidal Sassoon School””. Somewhere there are photos. One day I will track them down and destroy them.

2. BiB - July 24, 2006

But aren’t you in the process of growing your hair magnificently long, or does it still need a bit of a trim here and there even during said process? Hair is undeniably a pain, isn’t it? But it provides bloggage, so every cloud has a silver lining.

3. Bowleserised - July 24, 2006

Yes, but it does need an occasional trim or else one ends up with what are known in the longhair world as “fairy tale ends” which some folk adore, but which I don’t really like on me. And then there are the layers to get rid of… Slow process, and I’ve tried to grow out hair while going to hairdressers before. They can’t resist a chance to lop off three more inches than you wanted to lose.
You hair looked lovely though, as did GSE’s, and I see she had just had a cut and blogged it too.

4. leon - July 24, 2006

I had my hair cut by the British “avant garde hairdresser of the year”* last month. It wasn’t quite as outlandish as you’d expect from that but they did a good job.

*2005, I think.

5. BiB - July 24, 2006

Darlings, I lost (admittedly not much) sleep thinking this post was too pornographic with mentions of poorly-administered sex acts ‘n all. Is it? Do I need to take it down?

Leon, did it cost you 400 quid? You could have had a year in Berlin on that money. How did they avant-garde up your hair? Strange shapes, or asymmetry or what?

B., have you mastered the self-trim? I’ve attempted cutting my own hair in the past, and the Russian and I have attempted to do each other’s before, but have given up now. I once, as I delved into his hair with relish, had the strimmer thing on the maximum setting instead of minimum (or vice versa) and his new riah looked like a freshly-hacked pathway through some virgin rain forest. It was awful. So we had to practically skin him then, but luckily he still fancied himself at the end of it so all was well.

6. GreatSheElephant - July 24, 2006

Well, I was thrilled that your cactus did not droop and and I thought the hair looked quite delightful. Shall blog about it later.

7. Bowleserised - July 24, 2006

Yep, have been self trimming off and on for years. It helps that I don’t mind “messy”. I only ever found one hairdresser that I liked, and he was a drag queen in his spare time, which should tell you something…

8. BiB - July 24, 2006

GSE, it’s the first time I’ve praised a higher being for the existence of shopping cntres, let me tell you. They couldn’t afford a fan though, oddly. The poor young lady had to pootle through my hair as I sweated profusely. Not nice!

B., I have images of him playing his fantasies out on your locks. Were you ever peroxided against your will?

9. Bowleserised - July 25, 2006

BiB: sadly no. But when I had a Gods and Goddesses themed party to attend he did make my hair look like the totty in the Asterix books, which was exactly what I wanted.

Lo, the return of the Wyndham!

And Leon, how did you hair look after the avant garde thing?

10. leon - July 25, 2006

[BiB] Actually it was pretty reasonable by London standards, even by the London standards of a pauper such as myself.

He did do a really good job. It was somewhat asymmetrical, yes, and there was a fringe, and also a strange thing called ‘reverse layering’ which is sort of invisible but made it sit a lot better at the back. As for what it looked like, it always ends up looking like Keith Murray’s to the degree that I’m convinced he’s stolen my look somehow. Which is impossible.

I always had terrible hair as a child as I refused to have it cut and now feel I have to atone somehow.

11. BiB - July 26, 2006

Leon, I have image-googled Mr. Murray to deepen my acquaintance and come up with some quite marvellous alternative haircuts for you. But yours sounds/looks awfully fashionable. I feel a bit inadequate, and just a tiny bit nerdy, with my short-back-and-sides.

B., the only time I built up a bit of a relationship with a hairdresser was when I was about 16 or 17 and she began to suggest extravagant things and I had to run away and never go back. I still regret never having dyed my hair. Too late now, perhaps.

12. leon - July 28, 2006

Alternative haircuts? Do elaborate, I need something in reserve for when it starts receding.

13. BiB - July 28, 2006

Well, the name Keith Murray, I suppose inevitably, threw up a good mix of sorts. I’m not sure there were any REAL alternatives, to tell the truth. Is short not on your list?

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