Hairy History

Yesterday I finally got round to dyeing my hair (from dodgy root ridden blonde to random red!) and then in a crazy mood of hair indulgence I went to the hairdressers for a cut. I've always found Korean stylists a little frightened of western hair, and this trip was no exception. 
"English hair very difficult,' professed the hairdresser as she tried to work out the many knots in my wet hair. 
With a look of doubt she then added, "Home, hair care?...Rinse?" (hair conditioner?). 
Despite her broken English I got the message loud and clear: my hair was a dry, knotty, uncared for mess. In my defense I mainly blame the shampoo girl, who rubbed my head with the towel so vigorously after washing that I thought my head might fall off. 
Not getting very far, the stylist called for back up and before I knew it there was a man on the other side of me, holding up more knots and oh-so-slowly-and-carefully trying to get the brush through my poor humiliated hair, unable to hide the displeasure in his face.

As I sat there wishing I wasn't there, my mind wandered back to the many adventures and insults my hair has endured over the years. 

The first time I remember really noticing my hair was when I was about seven and I decided I wanted a bowl cut (where your hair literally looks like someone put a bowl on top of it and cut round the edge). Being a tom boy this appealed to me greatly and I even ended up with some neat little triangle strands in front of my ears, pixie style. I recall being most pleased when I entered the classroom the next day and my teacher said, "Oh look, we've got a new boy."
 
Skip forward a few years to university, where I decided I liked black dye (regardless of my pale face). On top of this, in an attempt to save money I asked my sister to cut my hair for me, adding in a nice thick fringe. We went out that night and as soon as we sat down a friend of mine proceeded to try and pull my 'wig' off.

Another time at uni a shocked and appalled hair dresser told me in these exact words, that "if there were social services for hair, mine would've been taken away a long time ago."

About a year later I had descended into the black with a blue shine tone, which I liked very much until one of the gruff northern inmates at the prison I was working at said I looked like a granny with a blue rinse.

Then there was the perm. My dream of bouncy, big curls was thwarted by my dreadfully fine hair, instead creating an effect that was more of the limp and lank curl variety. 

In the past two years I've continually dyed my hair into varying shades of light brown and blonde. Last year I changed it back to brown, but it came out all patchy with spots of leftover blonde. My answer to this was to go back to blonde again, therefore using five bottles of dye in 2 weeks. Now I'm no hairdresser but my stinging scalp spoke for itself in telling me that this wasn't a smart thing to do. At the end of it all, as my sister so aptly noted, I'd achieved that "yellow I liked so much."

A couple of weeks ago in Hair Salon class at school, a student said my hair was three different colours: Yellow, gold and brown.

Time for a change, I thought.

And so there we go.

 

Red hair, lazy picture

Dressing Up

Yesterday was school photo day. Now I know things have probably changed a lot in the last 20 years, but when I was seven a school photo involved smart school uniform and a formal levelled line up with the teacher. Here in Saudi the ideas are a little different. The girls were dressed up like dolls in these pink frilly things that would've had me in tears as a kid (I do actually remember crying once when my Mum made me wear a dress to my sisters birthday party). There were bows and sashes galore and even floppy silk hats and hoods. All of my girls except one-who's not Saudi- came to school with their hair straightened, because 'straight hair is good in Saudi Arabia.' I'm not sure I like the idea of changing your seven-year-olds natural appearance to create a supposedly more beautiful look. Again I know times have changed and straighteners weren't even around when I was their age, but I can't help finding this all a bit scary. The kids are already taking on their parents views and ideals of how they should look.
Perhaps I'm not being fair. I was, after all, a tom boy who had a bowl cut and was pleased when my teacher referred to me as a boy (it took me a long time to realise it was a joke). Maybe other girls of my era were just as conscious of what they looked like as the students are in my class. Maybe nothing has changed, and this country is normal.
No, that doesn't sound right.

For me the fact remains: whether this dressing up of young girls like dolls has been around forever or not, I dislike the way it prematurely prepares them for a life of preening and altering and generally being overly self-conscious.

Modelling one of the more understated numbers 

The admin staff had the job of getting the children dressed up and ready. You'd think this could be a fairly easy affair, like give the children their dresses and let them all put them on, then go round and help with zips. But oh no. Adults here encourage prudishness, teaching the children to hide from each other and be embarrassed about getting undressed. I've actually had a student before push a bookcase forward so she could get changed behind it. The girls yesterday were brought one by one into the office where I was working. The teacher signalled each child behind the door, then turned the light off, which made hardly any difference at all, as if to hide the children's modesty or something.

It's the end of the year, and as well as the silly photos, we also have a 'graduation' next week. All the mothers are coming (no men allowed, obvs) and they expect to be wowed with the cuteness of their offspring. My boys have been working really hard to put together an extract from Mr. Brown by Dr. Seuss. Unfortunately it's a bit of a mess and we've practiced up till now with me on the stage too, counting the boys in, passing them their posters and generally helping them to stay in time. I was also going to do a little intro speech, thanking the kids for being good and wishing them luck in their future endeavours etc. etc. But now, a week before, I've been told I'm not allowed on stage. So it's up to the kids to figure themselves out. I had a dream the other night where they got a quarter of the way through, got out of time from each other, forgot their lines, then gave up and just walked off the stage. I fear this could be a premonition.

In other news, it's raining hard. Day off methinks?

 

Beauty is in the eye of the Nation

When I spend time at home now I feel thoroughly left behind by the fashions and make-up. In England the trend is to be tanned (sometimes teetering on orange) and of course to strive always to be mega thin. In other countries, however, the idea of what beauty is may be totally different. In Korea I was called fat on countless occasions (boohoo) because girls-and often boys- are pint sized there. In Saudi Arabia many women are overweight and men seem to prefer them that way. So now I'm skinny!
In Korea white skin is favoured, to the point where some people actually put white make up on. Skin whitening products are also readily available. In Saudi Arabia, there's a tendency to look down on people with darker shades of skin.
In terms of fashion, Koreans like to dress the same as each other- short shorts, t-shirts (no shoulders please!) and high heels no matter what the occasion or weather. Here is Saudi there's a mega obsession with designers and expensive jewellery. It's all about how you look and what you're wearing, ironic because most of the time all that is seen by others is a burka.
Eyes are another interesting area. Often in Korea I saw adverts for eye surgery and it's common knowledge that most celebrities and a fair few regular people too have it done.

In Saudi the eye-related beauty measures are less extreme, but still entertaining. They wear loads of mascara and even more eye liner and I think it's maybe because this is one of the only areas where they can express their personality and show an element of individuality.
 

They also have big eyebrows, often pencilled in or with the lower hairs bleached blonde. A bit weird, but I still prefer it to the 'plucked to within an inch of your life' eyebrows that some girls opt for at home.

I guess what I'm trying to say in all this is that beauty is subjective, and that there really it's just silly to feel pressured into follow a certain fashion or idea, because often one countries glamour is another's shit. Just go to a different country! And on top of that, a nation itself is constantly evolving in terms of what's fashionable or beautiful, and if you've cut half your eyelids off in the quest then you're gonna find it a bit problematic to change them back when the time comes. Just sayin'.
    

Meeting the Mothers and Achieving Greatness

Last week we had a 'mothers meeting' at school, which is Saudis answer to a parents evening. Of course I was grateful there were no men, as this would've resulted in me having to wear my abaya for the whole thing, but it still seemed a bit one sided and unnatural to me. You'd think one of the perks of a man-free meeting would be that the women could uncover but actually there wasn't a single one who took their abaya off. One woman even chose to discuss her children with me whilst wearing a full burka, which meant I couldn't really hear what she was saying.
But abaya or no abaya I was still struck by the glamour and glitz of the occasion. I've really never seen so many women doing their makeup and sorting out their hair in a childrens' bathroom. Also there were some people who brought their girls in pretty party dresses complete with blusher, eyeliner and lipstick; miniature doll version of their mums.
Another odd part of the 'no men' set up was that I spoke to one lady who is divorced and doesn't live with her child. Her boy is quite naughty and a bit of a handful, but it was impossible to discuss strategies for improving behaviour with someone who a) doesn't see the child and b) was nearly crying in front of me.
Some women found it impossible to comprehend that their children are badly behaved. There seems to be a general consensus that the boys are just 'babies,' which accounts for a lot really.

In other news it actually rained last week and the kids went crazy. When we arrived to our private tutoring the two boys were running around in ponchos, screaming and playing in what can only be described as a bit of drizzle. Exciting times. I just wish the rain would happen in the morning next time because apparently so many people stay at home that the King has to call it a national holiday.

There were two main highlights of the last school week. Firstly, I did a mini award ceremony with my boys class, for the winners of the most stamps. It was very cute.

But my absolute favourite moment of the week has to be the pride I felt in my teaching ability after doing a plural nouns worksheet with the girls class. This girl clearly didn't get it, as she decided to take off the last letter of each word and and replace it with s.
Please note number 13:

I really am so impressed with myself. Maybe it was some sort of subliminal messaging that she picked up on? Pat on the back for me.

It's the fashion, darling

Being away from England has given me the luxury of simply ignoring fashion. In Korea I could wear whatever, as well as be safe in the knowledge that only a few (British) foreigners would know when I was wearing Primark. Of course Koreans have a distinct fashion sense, but I never felt out of place not partaking in it. I think both I and they understood that the heels and hot pants look was just not for me. In England, however, I find myself observing high street fashion and make-up and feeling like I need to step up my game. Apparently the hybrid traveler/student/don’t really care look doesn’t cut it anymore (did it ever?). An alarming percentage of girls out and about look like they’ve spent at least three days getting ready. When did fake eyelashes become everyday attire? It’s all so confusing.  
I’ve noticed a few things during my unavoidable shopping trips this week: # 1.The height of high heels is just scary. How the hell can anyone walk in those monstrosities? There must be a lot of shoe related injuries these days.  # 2. Perfectly nice dresses now have holes in the sides. Is this the fashion? I really don’t think it suits me to have my belly on show to left and right, not dissimilar to a swimming costume from a pimped up music video.  Personally I want to know where those extra bits of material went. Surely when you buy the dress you should be given a hanky or two made from the discarded parts, or a discount at the very least.
One thing I really love about shopping here is being able to listen to peoples conversations in dressing rooms. It can be so entertaining at times that I actually forget what I’m doing and end up being there for ages. So this is what I overheard the other day (imagine the Cov accent—brash and loud—for full effect):

Girl 1- Do you like it then or does it make me look fat?
Girl 2- 100% not, you look well good, I swear.

I love England.
I was having my hair cut today and got talking to two hairdressers. One of them said her boyfriend takes longer to get ready than she does. How is this possible? Do men wear makeup? Do men have to match outfits with handbags and shoes? I don’t get it. Then the other hairdresser chipped in, saying her boyfriend not only takes ages to get ready, but also gets his eyebrows threaded! To me this is a sure sign that we have finally all gone mad. Maybe this is the way forward, but I have to say that for now I am happy with a man who shoves on his clothes, rubs his  hands quickly through his hair, then puts a hat on to hide the mess before heading out. 
Perhaps the real reason why I am suffering from fashion confusion is that I am, in fact, getting old and have therefore given up caring. Sigh. But if that means I get to wear flat shoes and a whole dress rather than just parts, then maybe it's not as bad as it sounds.