Adventures in Haircuts #2

October 2008

About a week before leaving for my sister’s wedding in Ireland, I took a long hard look at my hair.  I’d had it cut by my beloved Cherie when I was back in the States about 6 months prior, but it was clear that my head needed some attention.

Desperately not wanting to recreate the disaster that was my first China haircut, I looked around to see which of my Chinese friends had the cutest hairstyle.  The winner was Elva, an amazing girl who does public relations work for the foster home.  She told me about her hairstylist in Beijing – he worked at a salon in a popular shopping district downtown.  Hmm…sounds promising.  We set off for Beijing that Saturday with high hopes for a new and improved Caroline.

We arrived at Gavin Studio.  It was hip and funky and trendy and way cooler than I’ll ever be.  Most of the apprentices wore tight white tee shirts that said “Gavin Studio: More Than Hairstyle” along with black parachute pants and black All Star sneakers.  All the stylists were men.  But not just any men.  Men in tight jeans and puffy hair.  Men who posed.  Men who knew hair.  The aroma of expensive hair products floated in the air.

Elva let the receptionist know we were there, and they directed us to some corner sofas to wait.  They offered us fashion magazines and juice boxes (Oh how I love the Chinese!).  After a few minutes, HE walked up to us.  Dressed in tight jeans, a perfectly-fitting blazer, a scarf tossed carelessly but perfectly around his neck, Italian leather shoes, funky plastic glasses, and a hip little holster holding the tools of his trade – scissors, combs and clips.  Oh.  And he had dimples.

It was Gavin.
Of Gavin Studio.

He smiled warmly and then came right down to business.  Slowly, he walked around me with a critical eye.  I straightened my posture, rejoicing inwardly that I’d thought to wear skinny jeans and apply a little eyeliner.  I kicked myself for forgetting lip gloss.  He continued to walk around me, running his fingers methodically through my hair.  He then looked me straight in the eye and said very slowly and deliberately in Chinese, “Your hair…is awful.  But when I am finished, it will be music.”

Okay then.

Gavin sat me down, put on headphones, pressed “play” on his iPod, and got to work.  With every snip of his scissors, he flicked his wrist – tossing the unwanted hair as far from himself as possible.  He approached the task with earnestness, confidence, and just enough flair.  About halfway through, he removed his blazer to reveal a vintage-looking Weezer tee shirt.  I asked him, “Is that what you’re listening to?”  He smiled and nodded.  Oh wow.  What a haircut I am going to get.

He continued on his course, snipping and combing away.  Out came the blow dryer.  No need for a brush or styling products – just the skillful hands of Gavin.  He dried and styled and did final touch ups, all without ever letting me look in the mirror.  But at the end, with one final WHOOSH, he spun me around in front of the mirror, tore off his headphones, and proudly declared, “NOW your hair is MUSIC!”

And he was right.

It was stylish.  It was sleek.  It was even a little mysterious.  But more than that, it was ME.  A Chinese haircut that was ME.

All thanks to Gavin.
Of Gavin Studio.