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Where: A hair salon in Tromsø, Norway.

Why: Shall dance at the opening of TIFF – Tromsø International Film Festival, since am member of and assistant teacher for Danseklubben, as students’ dance club. Performing right before the viewing of Russian musical Hipsters, to set the mood and create the right atmosphere – think 50’s styling and big skirts (a good example of which can be found HERE).

♮

1.24 PM: Entering hair salon. Have wet hair and no makeup on and salon is packed with people. Sit down at couch to wait, staring suspiciously at hairdressers while praying “please don’t make me a yellow zebra, please don’t make me a yellow zebra.” Still very traumatized after zebra-incident – which fortunately got fixed in the end, by the way, so no zebra any more – but also excited to be getting hair & makeup done by professionals. Maybe will learn some great tips to put in blog.

1.32 PM: Fetched by approx. 40 year old woman (will from now on be referred to as HairWoman) with yellow hair and white, shimmery eyeshadow, slightly too dark foundation and frosty lipgloss with silver shimmer. Sitting in chair feeling slightly concerned while she talks to the other stylists doing the dancers’ hair. They decide to go for a high ponytail and wavy bangs. Feel slightly disappointed about having hair up (always feels better to dance with hair moving around too), but can understand that it will be practical since hairstyle has to last for about 12 hours.

1.34 PM: HairWoman has blow-dried my hair and is now backcombing it using a bristle brush. Find this interesting as always thought backcombing was best done with a rat tail comb, but it seems to be working very well indeed. Also likes the idea of backcombing, as this usually results in big hair, which is always good. Hoping for a slightly scruffy, bedhead-looking ponytail, not the slick kind that makes my head look like a bowling ball. Feeling rather hopeful in general, actually.

1.50 PM: Big, poofy hair is suddenly reduced to a slick-looking ponytail that’s sticking out at about the same height as my ears (not a good height for me, makes my head look oddly shaped). No volume left, only tangled, scruffy finish of backcombing. HairWoman is rolling ponytail on two hot rollers, to “give it bounce”. Bangs also go into hot roller, and suddenly looks like a bowling ball with three sausages glued to it. Feeling worse than when was a yellow zebra. Then Mr. Photographer decides this was a perfect moment to shoot me, and wish could throw said bowling ball at him, but can’t as it is my head.

2.01 PM: HairWoman has started doing makeup. Am being covered in thick layer of foundation and feel strangely vulnerable as HairWoman is staring at all my imperfections (have just switched birth control method, so skin is mess) and slapping goo on them. Can’t look in the mirror because afraid I’ll be orange or a brownish grey, but a quick glance says it’s not too bad, actually. Huge sigh of relief, until HairWoman starts talking about my eyebrows. Haven’t had time to pluck them for a little while, but they’re not very bad, just a few stray hairs, and definitely nothing people will be able to see while I’m on stage or in the dark after party.

2.05 PM: Panic! Panic! HairWoman has fetched one of the things I fear the most – the eyebrow razor (cue threatening music). We had bad relationship in high school as I thought they were loving and nice, but was soon left with incredibly sore skin over eyes, and a really hard, ugly-looking regrowth. Have shunned these creatures ever since. But no more – HairWoman insists on just “touching up a little bit, nothing dramatic as you’ve already got an acceptable shape”. Curse self for being such a chicken, and close eyes while she’s working.

2.11 PM: HairWoman has proceeded to a white, shimmery eyeshadow while I’m still cursing self. She didn’t give me the incredibly thin eyebrows I’d feared, but my skin feels raw from the razor and she’s “fixed” the top part of brows as well, and am now really worried about how it’s going to look when it starts growing back. Brows are important, but mine are usually hard enough to deal with on the bottom part. Am still remembering the ugly way brows grow back when you use a razor.

2.23 PM: I’m going to put this in my blog, it’ll make an entertaining post, I’m going to put this in my blog, it’ll make an interesting post. Repeating mantra in head to keep from running away from HairWoman. In addition to bowling-ball-and-sausages-hair, thick layer of liquid foundation and sore eyebrows, now have shimmery white eyeshadow covering entire eyelid and orange-peachy rouge with sparkly bits all over my cheeks. Not just on the apples of the cheeks, but on the whole area from underneath eyes to halfway down towards jaw line (which looks very white in comparison).

2.29 PM: I’M GOING TO PUT THIS IN MY BLOG, IT’LL MAKE AN ENTERTAINING POST, I’M GOING TO PUT THIS IN MY BLOG, IT’LL MAKE AN ENTERTAINING POST!

2.30 PM: HairWoman is applying liquid eyeliner, and can feel it going all wonky and smudgy. Am allowed to open eyes when it’s dried a little, and suspicions are confirmed. Have 1 cm thick, uneven line on top of lids that stops abruptly just before outer corner of eye. Decide that this is it, I won’t care how horrible she makes me, I’ll just buy some makeup remover and a liquid liner and a blush and do it again myself. No need to freak out.

2.32 PM: How can someone supposedly “professional” make me look so completely and utterly horrible?! Not only would this never work as an ordinary party makeup, but it’ll make face look completely flat on stage. All white eyeshadow with no darker shades will make skin around eyes look like boiled fish. The rouge is everywhere and thus cannot create/enhance any bone structure in my face, which means will look like white pancake. How can she call herself a professional, how? Do you have no shame, HairWoman?

2.41 PM: Sausages on top of head now transformed into stiff, ribbon-looking curls. Bangs ended up looking like a tiny sausage even without the roller inside, so HairWoman has decides it will look good to tease the bangs and pull them back in some sort of quiff. She then she locates a big white plastic flower, which she wishes to place inside the quiff, right on top of my head.

2.45 PM: “I’m going to put this in my blog, it’ll make an entertaining post, I’m going to put this in my blog, it’ll make an interesting post.”

2.48 PM: Thank you Jack Sparrow, mother, panda bears and every other good force in the universe. HairWoman has to go work on another client, so new girl (hereby known as SympatheticGirlWithNiceHair, or SGWNH) takes over the task of finishing me. SGWNG immediately fetches liquid eyeliner and makeup remover and tries to sort out my eyes. Makes the line slightly less wonky, and adds a nice, albeit thick, flick at the end. Also pulls ponytail higher up on my head and starts pinning the ends to make updo rather than weird ponytail. Feel like kissing SGWNH and crying on her shoulder out of pure relief.

2.56 PM: Leaving hair salon with mad hair and rather mad makeup (although would have been even worse had it not been for angel SGWNH). Also has thick layer of dark red-brown lipstick with gold shimmer. Looks dark and reminds me of the bad lipstick choices in the first season of Ally McBeal. Has to rush to H&M to buy liquid liner, creamy blusher (on sale) and cotton buds, then to the chemist’s to buy makeup remover (a kind I had to quit using because it made my cheeks itchy, but which is the only kind I know that won’t make my contacts panic).

Every time looks into a mirror for the next four hours (or when looks at other dancers with better hair & makeup): “I’m going to put this in my blog, it’ll make an entertaining post, I’m going to put this in my blog, it’ll make an interesting post.”

7.26 PM: Locking self into bathroom at pizza place, armed with lifesaving equipment from H&M’s and chemist’s. Had to go through show with mad makeup as was no available time to fix it, but was probably not that bad as was only looked at from long distance. Splashing makeup remover on paper towel and removes rouge, then wipe out almost all of liquid liner. Then reapply makeup, including nice, greyish cream eyeshadow and fresh liquid liner (with a double wing, just for the spite of it!).

2.49 AM: Sitting in Boyfriend’s chair, writing blog post with sore cheeks (whether from the makeup, the scrubbing to remove every single trace of HairWoman or the makeup remover I do not know). Eyebrows feeling slightly stubby already (I blame the 25% Hungarian genes I’ve got for my mad hair growth) and still feeling wickedly revengeful towards HairWoman. But something good came out of this as well: now have renewed self-esteem when it comes to self working with fashion/beauty.

If someone as bad as HairWoman can get paid to do this, then I most certainly can, too.

I’ve spent the entire day tidying my room and doing laundry (and taking breaks and watching Ally McBeal/Gilmore Girls, of course), and now I can spend time in my room without cringing over the amount of MESS everywhere. Phew. As the place has become rather nice during the day, I thought I’d show you some pictures of it so you can get to know me a little better (and yes, there are still some messy areas, I just didn’t take any pictures of them).

The wall over my desk. Feeling rather B&W at the moment, as you can probably tell.

The shelf is full, which means no more books – or simply keeping the new books in piles everywhere else instead.

My old ballet shoes. If you look carefully you can see my name written on the ribbon inside the shoe.

iPod, sheet music, tiny recorder, notebook for my own songs and headphones. Everything you need to pretend you’re studying music.

I like the increasing amount of tulle and lace that’s been sneaking into my closet lately. Now if only I could find a mint green tulle skirt, preferably vintage…

Today I put all my belts on nails behind the door so they’re close to the mirror. I usually try on at least three different ones, and leave the discarded two on my piano. But nevermore!

Stuff that’s always in my bag: a book, phone, my walletbag, lip balm and a hand lotion.

I’ve learnt how to make origami birds (by looking at this website), and have some special plans for them. More on that later, kittens!

What is your living space like?

♮I wish I could be Lily Cole, especially if I could have her costumes from The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus.

♮Tidy, clean and re-decorate my room. Plans include a zillion paper cranes hanging from the lamp in the ceiling (almost like that scene in Heroes, you know?), new stuff hanging on the walls and a clean floor.

♮Having dinner with Boyfriend and Boyfriend’s sister.

♮Watch lots of Ally McBeal while doing something creative with my (now short) nails.

♮Leaving the house as little as possible. It’s no longer freezing here, but it’s raining, causing icy sludge, and the wind is ever-present, as usual.

♮Working on some proper, fashion-related blog posts, as I’ve had little time to do it this week and really miss it. I’ve got some nice ones planned, so stick around, kids!

Written on plain old paper at Harstad Cinema, 6.05 PM.

Half an hour ago I walked out of my favourite hair salon, feeling rather pretty and pleased with my brand new highlights. Twenty-five minutes ago I walked out of a dressing room at H&M feeling frustrated, embarrassed and ugly. What’s the cause for this radical change of mood, you might ask? Simply seeing my new highlights close up in proper lighting and realizing that what looked subtle and bronze in the salon looks yellow and amateurish everywhere else. The mere thought of seeing it in daylight makes me cringe. Literally.

Not only am I upset about my hair, but the entire world seems somewhat… tainted. Silly things that normally wouldn’t bother me much now make me want to stomp my feet, yell and beat someone to a pulp. My nails, for instance, are so long they affect the way I hold the pen. I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t shout at the incompetent waitress for not bringing me cutlery. And every second there is this mocking voice in the back of my head yelling “you have YELLOW hair, you have YELLOW hair!”. The people walking by me seem to stare at my head for two seconds longer than what’s normal. Not to mention that I feel incredibly vain for letting something like bad highlights making me this upset.

Then I reconsider. In this age of DIY, where we are surrounded by information about fashion and beauty, there are very few aspects of our appearance we still have to rely on others to fix for us. Nails, makeup, hair styling and accessorizing – most of us with the smallest interest in the area know enough about it to do it ourselves. The one exception, though, is the process of getting one’s hair cut. And not only are we in need of someone else to perform the actual cutting, but – even worse – the result has an enormous impact on our self-esteem, and a bad outcome is a real hassle to fix.

If you do your own nails and the result looks poor, a simple swipe of nail polish remover will leave you back where you started. You might not have the fabulous nails you wished for, but at least your nails have suffered no permanent damage. This is not the case with hair, though, as most of us know oh-too-well. I’ve been to the hairdresser’s too many times to count, yet a surprisingly large number are still fresh in my memory. And not because it was a wonderful experience, let me tell you.

I’ve had red blotches of colour scattered through my hair (“it’s a brand new colouring process!”, the stupid girl squealed”). I’ve had bad fringes and horrible layering. I’ve been cut too much and too little. I’ve met snooty hairdressers that looked me over, cut my hair in silence and seemed to care the slightest about what I wanted or how my hair naturally acts. I’ve been cut by smiling, overly positive women who praised my hair to the skies… but still didn’t manage to shape my hair nicely.

Then, about six months ago, came the turning point and I thought I had finally seen the end of my hair traumas. I found a salon with effective, thoughtful and knowing hairdressers, and had my first good experience with highlights ever. My family, my friends and – the ultimate test! – Boyfriend all got their hair cut there, and were all smiles afterwards. I therefore booked today’s highlights without a care in the world, because even though I couldn’t get booked with the same girl as last time, I felt confident that anyone at said salon would be up to the job.

Every magazine tells you that the key to a good hair appointment is proper preparation. Learn the language, know what you want, bring photos etc., etc. Well, dear readers (brownie points to anyone who’s still with me, by the way!), I’ve done my homework. I carefully explained to the hairdresser exactly what I wanted (a subtle, natural-looking shimmer of bronze), and also what I didn’t want (highlights that are zebra-looking, yellow and visible from the moon). I then went through the usual process while the girl did her thing.

You know, you sit there, you try to see what she’s doing without straight out staring; you bounce between “oh, this looks really promising!” to “I’m gonna look like one of the Simpsons” repeatedly for the entire process; you fiddle and worry and wish you’d put more blusher on; you worry she’s making too big a change, too small a change, and then, blissfully, you’re finished. And you smile and pay and try to see what your new you looks like (because it really is a new you, not just a new hairstyle) without staring too much. You want to know the weird part?

I really thought my hair looked good. Not the styling, of course, because I always hate the way anyone styles my hair, but the highlights looked rather like the last ones I had. And now? Now I’ve seen the truth, from at least five different mirrors, lights and other people, and I’ve come to the conclusion that

I’M A YELLOW ZEBRA

- and hairdressers have way too much power.

First: Boyfriend is wearing an elastic and some cards on his head because of a game we played just before midnight. There, now I can say HAPPY NEW YEAR! I do hope you all had a lovely time?

I spent the day/night with Boyfriend, my mother, Cookie and a friend of hers. Boyfriend set up the table nicely while Cookie and I made ourselves pretty. Then we ate sweets and played this wonderfully entertaining game – it is a version of the one they play in the tavern in Inglourious Basterds, where you’re supposed to guess what famous character’s name is written on the card placed on your forehead. Strangely addictive.

Cookie doesn’t look very happy in this shot, perhaps because the card she wore at the stroke of midnight had “Barbie” written on it, which I insisted would affect her entire 2010. Boyfriend was the Loch Ness monster, and I was the oldest of the Three Billy Goats Gruff, so I can’t imagine how our year will be. I’d take Barbie any time, Cookie!

Boyfriend has been playing with my camera ever since he got here, and now knows much more than I do about how it works. He took some really cool photos of the fireworks, and has also made his own Bokeh, which makes all lights that aren’t in focus in a photo turn the shape of your Bokeh, like this:

(taken with a star-shaped Bokeh)

Cookie and I sleeping on the couch. I have weird hair and a burn on my arm from when I touched a lamp by accident. Said lamp shall pay, trust me. Cookie is the dark, hairy blur to the left, by the way.

I’m in love with my Scrabble ring. I’ve decided to wear it every time I’m singing on stage this year.

Yes, I’m still practicing my nail art. This is how they look at the moment – the only bad thing is that every time I got a glimpse of them while washing the salad, I thought they were spiders. Freaky.

As you’ve probably noticed I’ve started adding a “© Airam” to my photos. I’m not deluding myself into thinking I’m the world’s greatest photographer or anything, but people steal pretty much anything nowadays, so better safe than sorry, right? Do tell me if you find them distracting, though, or if you have a better way to copyright your photos!