Beauty Parlor

The beauty parlor is perhaps one of those few places in the world where women go in frowning and actually coming out smiling. Unless of course you've been with the beautician from hell who makes you look like a clown instead of a glamorous celebrity.

I don't often visit the beauty parlor. I go in for the occasional hair trim and maybe for a special occasion. (I have not learned the art of putting on make-up!) So it always surprises me whenever I spend time in one. And most of the time, I look at other customers-how they pat their newly relaxed hair as they leave or how they squeal with delight at the hairstylist who has done a job well or how they step out the door with an air of confidence that I could have sworn was not there before.

Yes, to the modern woman, the beauty parlor has become a haven. A place to chat, feel good about oneself and maybe even get over a bad break-up.

But until recently, I never really thought about the beauticians themselves. And so while I was having my hair cut the other day, I was surprised at what I saw. It was noon-ish so there was hardly anyone in the shop. And there were about twenty or so members of the staff who weren't doing anything-professionally, that is. But they were definitely doing something-they were primping and beautifying themselves. That definitely made sense. I mean, if we all go to the beautician to make ourselves beautiful, where can beauticians go except to themselves?

I watched one of the hairstylists deftly bow-dry her hair as another stared at the mirror, mesmerized by the marks on her face. And when I looked at all the other members of the staff I found one very striking observation: whether they were male or female, everyone's hair in the shop was layered, colored (with some tinge of brown) and straightened. With my wavy, uncolored, single-length hair, I could have been a foreigner in my own country. It must be tough, I thought, to have a job where one has to be beautiful all the time. On the average, I spend about 15 minutes in front of the mirror everyday. That's enough time for me to put on powder, brush my hair and check to see if I have broccoli stuck between my teeth. Of course, there are days when I spend more than enough time required, staring at a pimple hoping that I had laser beams to cauterize it on the spot and there are times when I look at the clothes in my closet and realize that I have nothing to wear-figuratively speaking, of course. Thank goodness I'm required to wear a uniform (even if I gripe about it)! Otherwise, I'd have to wake up earlier to make sure I had the perfect outfit. After all, nobody makes a conscious effort to look scruffy.

But it must be exhausting to have to work in a place where there are large mirrors and white lights all around. Or perhaps in the case of actors, cameras and reporters waiting to catch someone without their make-up and with less than movie-perfect hair. It must be draining to be immersed in an atmosphere where physical beauty is glorified and where the standard for beauty is someone fair-skinned, tall, and small-boned, when Filipinos by nature only have one of three (small bones). I think if I had any of those jobs, I might go insane. Or maybe I'm being too dramatic. Maybe I'm reading into the situation too much. Or maybe beauticians have learned to be blind to the mirrors all around them. Or maybe they don't really care. Or maybe they just think of it as part of their job and nothing else. Maybe.

Although I get the feeling that in this world is becoming more and more like a beauty parlor everyday. Everyone is expected to look a certain way instead of behave a certain way. When Julia Roberts forgot to shave her armpit hair it caused more commotion than the nuclear testing in China. And there were more pictures of Reese Witherspoon wearing a dress that had already been worn by another actress than there were of refugees in Afghanistan. There's something definitely wrong with a culture that cares more about how we look than how we behave. Being obsessed with having the right accessory instead of the right personality. That encourages people to decide based on what looks good instead of what is good. Who knew that a trip to the beauty parlor could be such a philosophical experience? I can't wait for my next trip to the bookstore!