Yes, I am going to write an entire blog post about washing my hair in China. It's more exciting than you're thinking. It wasn't so long ago that the majority of people in China relied solely on public restrooms for all their hygiene needs (several of my friends remember this from their own childhoods), and this gave rise to a separation of toilets and washing facilities. Though modern homes now often have multiple private bathrooms, just like with xi jiao, there remains a tradition of going out to get one's hair washed (it's much better than a bucket in the street). There are many similarities between 洗头发 xi toufa and getting a haircut elsewhere, but there is so much more than just shampoo and scissors. Naturally, in contemporary times there's a varying degree of luxury, too - from window-box chairs to spa-like accommodations - but here I'll describe the experience at the one I visited most often, introduced to me by my colleague, friend, and hair guru, "Ann."
Down the street from school and home, appearing under Bont Cafe during my second year in Hengyang, was XiLu Salon (which may or may not actually be its name), favoring German hair-care products. I set up a declining balance account that gave me free money and a member discount, making the typical 20-minute wash, massage, and dry just 16 RMB (less than $3). After depositing my belongings in a locker with a springy bracelet key ring, I was led by a hostess to a little waiting area while the staff decided who was brave enough to deal with a foreigner with minimal Chinese that day.
Once a courageous soul appeared, he led me behind a curtain to a fully reclining bed with a headrest in its sink (much more comfortable than a chair with a neck rest). I put on shoe coverings, swung my legs up, and unfolded a blanket. The washer (distinct from the stylist, and almost always a skinny young boy) put a series of plastic protectors around the neckline of my clothes, adjusted me, and, sitting patiently through my awkward Chinese, adjusted the water temperature and pressure. Sometimes, more halting conversation would ensue, but sometimes not. The washer shampooed, rinsed, conditioned, and rinsed my hair through a series of pressurized scalp, neck, and shoulder massages, full of scraping, kneading, and popping. He added a finishing product which smelled deliciously of musk - and was not for sale. (I never bought my own shampoo and conditioner to keep in a bag on the shop shelf, though I think they asked a few times in the beginning if I had.) At the end of each session, the washer propped my neck up on a heated washcloth and cleaned both ears with a Q-tip - this last one took a little getting used to, as I gritted my teeth through the artificially loud static, but eventually I decided it felt good, too.
There was a 40-minute variety of xi toufa that included add-ons such as an eye massage and an arm and hand massage. The eye massage was not as macabre as it sounds - it was more like an eyelid washing done with a light-pressure shower head. (Just be sure not to have a lot of eye makeup on if you try it.) The arm and hand massage was a great relaxing addition to the experience, a little mini dose of the xi jiao rubbing and finger popping. Due to time constraints, though, I only tried this a handful of times, and never got around to the hour-long xi toufa which involved some special hair treatment with an old-fashioned dryer-looking machine.
After the washing came drying and styling, which was, for me, a great time suck. My hair is much more of a sponge than Chinese ladies'. Kitty could get her xi toufa done in half an hour; I usually allowed two hours. Part of of this was spent alleviating the disappointment of the stylist when he couldn't play with my curly hair - yes, it was a rarity for them, but because of that, they didn't really know how to treat it well and the few times I allowed them to use the diffuser, I ended up with frizz ball. (Meanwhile, other women were trying to be fashionable and get waves like mine - it worked much better for them.) Each stylist, therefore, developed his favorite technique for straightening my hair, but before he was done with the ordeal, there was always a semicircle of curious onlookers around my chair - staff and customers alike. The stylist always seemed to enjoy the show. As far as I know, I was the only regular foreigner who frequented the place, though I did bring all my visitors and the new teachers to have a try.
On average, especially during the winter, many Chinese women I talked to went to establishments like this one at least three times a week, during their lunch break or after dinner. I tried the place on the first floor of Kitty's building a few times (it also included mini back massages), Pretty Baby downtown once, and a little hole-in-the-wall near Alicia's school when I visited, but XiLu was always the most convenient. Sometimes, I even got my hair cut. Eventually, we all need that.
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