Back in October, my colleague and partner in crime, Sherri and I decided to go on a hunt for the elusive Lojman. The Lojman was rumored to be our future home, and after about six weeks in mediocre hotels, we were ready to move out. The problem was, nobody would give us a straight answer, “Oh, yes yes, you will go to your lojman in two or three weeks.” And, after a month and a half of this, we decided to do some digging ourselves. Unfortunately, nobody could give us a straight answer as to where the building could be located. The only information we could obtain was that it was located somewhere in the neighborhood of 100. Yıl, a comical name meaning literally “100 years”, though we later discovered it also means “Centennial.” Really though, what a kooky name. I guess a neighborhood like this only crops up once in a hundred years (it would be a lot funnier if you had any idea what this neighborhood was like…)
We waited at the central bus station for a bus to take us to this 100 years locale, and we randomly got off in what we guessed to be the middle of the neighborhood. We walked around for a good hour and were never able to find the Lojman, but today, I revisited the location.
But first the back story.
I have short hair. Back in February, I decided that enough was enough, and that it was time to get my hair cut. After about five months with no cut (when I typically cut it every four to six weeks) I was looking less than stellar. I asked around and was recommended to hit a place off of famed İstiklal Sk. We agreed on a bob, after reviewing photographs in a magazine.
About 45 minutes later, the Kuaför had cut a spiraling design into my hair. Starting at the base of my shoulder on the right side of my head, he worked his way around on an incline, finally chopping the hair on the left side to a length of barely two inches.
Loud protestations, curse words and physical threats ensued.
Eventually, his boss was able to compel him to level out the cruel mess, but I was left resembling teenage heart-throb Justin Beiber (pre-haircut).
As a twenty-something woman, this was not a welcome physical transformation.
Two months on, and I have finally replenished enough of my hair to have a go again. So, this afternoon, we found ourselves in the same place we had been back in October, a good half-mile from the Lojman’s actual location, standing outside of the Bayan Kuaförü.
Unfortunately, my luck the second time around was not much better than the first.
After the poor hairdresser looked my head over, muttering to my (phenomenal and patient) colleague Suzan about the horrid cut I currently had, we attempted to salvage the ‘do. Unfortunately, I am still not able to advocate for myself in the hairdresser’s, which allowed two of the three cardinal rules of haircutting to be broken
- No shaving my neck. If you need to shave my neck, it’s too short. Don’t do it.
- No bangs. Ever. Under any circumstances.
- No color. I will stab you with your own scissors and leave you to die in a pool of your own blood.
The razor came out before I realized what was happening and the bangs, well, the bangs slowly emerged over the hour she widdled away all the hair I have spent the last two months growing.
So now, rather than Justin Beiber, I look like Dorothy Hammil. I have a glorified bowl cut, though I do have the promises of the hairdresser that once the hair grows out a tad more, she’ll style it better.
So, the question is, is the third time a charm, or should I cut my losses (quite literally) and wait ‘til I’m back home where I can verbally abuse my hair dresser until she damn well does something correctly. It’s a Centennial Haircut really, a haircut that should only occur once in 100. Yıl(s).
Here for your viewing pleasure is my former doppelganger Justin Beiber featuring Usher in Somebody to Love.