Asian Haircuts

When you live in a different country for some time, everyday things take on a different perspective, and something as simple as getting a haircut becomes an experience that can be exasperating. Several years ago I spent the winter in South East Asia, during this trip I had my hair cut five times, each one a unique cultural lesson.

An obvious difficulty is the language barrier, less obvious are cultural taboos, and in Asia these can be bewildering, confusing and often inexplicable. In Buddhist culture the head is the most sacred part of the body, and it is unacceptable to touch the top of another persons head, or even to point at it. This would leave a western hairdresser in an untenable position, but in Thailand, the dextrous use of combs, clips and scissors provides a suitable solution, even if it does mean that a quick trim can take an hour. Other local beliefs can be even stranger; the Thais are extremely superstitious, and it is considered bad luck to have your hair cut on a Wednesday, so most hairdressers will be empty on this day, if they are open at all.

My first experience of a Thai haircut was in Phuket, which, with it’s massive tourism industry is one of the most westernised places in the kingdom, and one would reasonably assume that a haircut would be a simple operation. Picking the trendiest looking hairdressers in Kata, I removed my shoes (another cultural thing), left them next to the others outside the door, and went in.

The shop was staffed by three girls, who, like most of their graceful compatriots could have been aged anywhere from seventeen to thirty.
‘Sawatdee kah‘ they cooed as I walked in, ‘hello, welcome’.

They then went into a huddle, whispering, flashing heartbreakingly beautiful smiles when I caught their eye, presumably deciding who was going to deal with this crazy farang. The chosen stylist pointed me to a chair, the other two sat down and giggled.
‘Do you speak English?’ I asked.
‘Nid noy‘ she replied. A little.

For years I have had my hair cut the same way; a number two with the clippers at the back and sides, and cut slightly longer with scissors on top, brushed forward, no parting. Pointing first at the clippers, and then at the side of my head, I said ‘ti nii, song‘, which means ‘here, two’, and then pointing to the top of my head, ‘ti nii, sii’; ‘here, four’ thinking that it would be simpler for her to cut it all with the clippers.

‘Khao jai mai khap?’‘ I continued, ‘do you understand?’
‘Khao jai kah‘ she purred, ‘I understand’. So far so good.

One of the gigglers was designated to ‘make shampoo’, which turned out to be a long, slow, and deeply sensual experience, but not, I suspect, for her. Returning to the chair, the stylist picked up the clippers, and proceeded to shave all of my head in a number one crop.

Six weeks later I was in Chaing Mai, the reasonably cosmopolitan, second largest city in Thailand, and home to quite a large expat community. With my accidental crop now grown out and in need of a cut, it was time to find a hairdresser again.

The hairdressers recommended by a Thai friend was run by a woman who spoke English well, and this time I pointed at the clippers and the side of my head and asked In English for a number two, and then pointing at the top explained that this should be a little longer.
“No pompen” she replied, which is the most accurate pronunciation of the word ‘problem’ that you will ever hear from a Thai.

One of the staff brought me a coffee and a copy of the Bangkok Post, and I settled back in the chair. First came the clippers; with swift motions she shaved the back and sides of my head to a crisp number two, and then reaching for the scissors, started snipping away at the top of my head.

After some time she stood back and said “ok, finish.”
“Can you cut it a bit shorter ” I asked, smiling at her in the mirror.
“No, look good now,” she replied, “very handsome”.
“I would like it shorter” I repeated, and went on to explain that I would be travelling a lot for the next two months and did not want to have another haircut while I was on the road.
Smiling, she whipped the cover from me, brushed me down, and said “Thank you very much, one hundred baht“. I paid up, and returned to the guesthouse.

My next, and probably strangest, encounter with the world of Asian haircuts was in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. As I had explained to the hairdresser in Chaing Mai, I had just spent two months travelling through Laos and Cambodia, and by the time I arrived in Phnom Penh I was in urgent need of a haircut.

On the first afternoon in town, I wandered the streets around Norodom Boulevard, an area which is the nearest to a commercial centre that you are likely to find in this enigmatic city.

Finding what looked vaguely like a hairdressers, I entered and found myself in an establishment that was a combination of an old fashioned hairdressers, beauty shop and massage parlour. Most of the clientele were women, but there was a middle aged man in some sort of officers uniform reclined in a chair with a team of girls cutting his hair, shaving his face and manicuring his nails.

Having taken the plunge I was unable to lose face by walking out, as that would have caused them to lose face, so I sat in the old-fashioned barbers chair that I was shown to, and waited for someone to attend to me.

Eventually an old Khmer man materialised from the back of the shop, and came over. After establishing that he didn’t speak English, but did speak French, I went through my time worn ritual of explaining what I wanted, delving deeply into my memory banks for the necessary words in a language that I last spoke at school twenty five years ago.

The old barber nodded, and produced a pair of scissors, and when I mimed a pair of clippers, complete with buzzing sound effects, he apologised and said that the shop did not have any electricity. He then proceeded to cut my hair in the same style as every other haircut he had presumably performed during the past fifty years. With hindsight, I should have realised that every Khmer male I had seen during the past three weeks wore exactly the same hairstyle; the short back and sides with a side parting that was de rigueur for British schoolboys in the 1950’s.

Once again, when he finished, I paid up without a protest, rushed back to the guesthouse, dug out the swiss army knife from the bottom of my backpack, and proceeded to chop away at my hair with the fold out nail scissors.

Two weeks later, back in the westernised world of downtown Bangkok, I went along to Mah Boon Krong, a huge shopping mall popular with trendy Thai teenagers. In here, crammed amongst the clothes shops, CD shops, MacDonald’s and Pizza Huts, I found a hairdressers that could easily have been the Bangkok branch of Toni and Guy. For once I had absolutely ‘no pompen’ in explaining what I wanted as my stylist himself had the same haircut. I did however have to refuse all offers of red and blue tints, and ‘maybe you like little bit spiky’, and various other treatments that are popular with members of Thai boy bands.

My last experience was a pleasant surprise. I was in Krabi, the capital of the southern province of the same name. Here I found a hairdressers where, with six months worth of Thai language skills under my belt, I was easily able to explain what I wanted, and more surprisingly, got just that. I also had a shave from a man wielding an old-fashioned cut-throat razor, and to finish off, a head massage. Heaven, and all for one hundred baht; less than two pounds.