It’s a question I’ve been asked on many recent occasions, but it still puzzles me. I don’t think you are likely to find a full-blooded Asian who has naturally wavy hair with blond highlights. I could be wrong; she may be out there, but I doubt it.
My new western coiffure came five months ago when I learned a life lesson and traded in my stick-straight, dark brown hair for waves and highlights. The style is simple (I don’t even have to blow-dry my hair!), but getting it took me years.
Adopted into a Caucasian family in rural Missouri, I was indoctrinated at a young age to the woes of finding someone who knew how to work with Asian hair. My mother’s best friend was a beautician, and in second grade my mother somehow talked me into getting a “pixie.” I walked out of the salon looking like Michael Chang. When I got home, my sister nearly spit out her cereal she was laughing so hard. I cried and swore to never have ugly, or short, hair again.
Unfortunately, I was unable to keep that promise. My school pictures are a collection of stick-straight one-lengthers, bad perms and super-high, super-stiff bangs (it was the ’90s). When I reached college, I finally found someone who could relate. My junior and senior year roommate An was another Midwesterner, and her parents were of Vietnamese descent. She, too, had a peppered past of traumatic perms and haircuts, but her freshman year she had found a Korean beautician in our small college city to cut her hair — and she has never gone back to another non-Asian stylist. “I have realized that only Asian hair dressers can cut, perm, style my hair appropriately. I haven’t had one bad hairstyle since ‘switching over,’ ” she says.
Unfortunately, I took a little longer than An to straighten out my hair tribulations. When I moved to Los Angeles two years ago, I started going to a salon at a swanky hotel on the Sunset Strip. The third time there he over highlighted me. It was time to move on.
After that, I thought I’d finally found someone who could work with my hair. She was an Asian American woman in the South Bay; the first non-white person to touch my hair. Although most of her customers were Caucasian, I was sure she would give me the styles of which I had always dreamed. With her for nearly a year, I saw her prices go up, but my hair got no better. It was fine, but it wasn’t great. The last straw was when I asked her to do a body wave. I had seen An and a few other stick-straight-hair friends with a similar look. But still, this stylist told me, “Asian hair won’t hold it.”
I knew she was wrong. Unfortunately, all of my Asian American friends with this great style all had it done on trips to San Francisco. Not willing to shell out a plane ticket for a hairdo, I suffered in silence with my stick-straight hair.
My life changed months later when a Korean co-worker came into lunch with a gorgeous new do; highlights and ... a body wave. She revealed she had it done in Los Angeles. Hallelujah! She had gone to Koreatown to have it done. I immediately called to make an appointment.
A man answered in Korean. “Is Kris there?” I asked eagerly. He replied. I didn’t understand it. “Kris,” I repeated. He hung up. Refusing to be deterred from my hair savior, I called back. Kris (Kim Hae Woon) answered. Through a stunted conversation, I found out she would be there the rest of the day. After printing out a map, I made it to Rainbow Hair Touch in the heart of Los Angeles’ Koreatown. The window advertised “Men’s Haircut $8.”
After four hours of chemical fumes and reading the same magazine nine times — there was only one in English — I walked out of the salon with the best hairstyle I have had yet. I had to go all the way to Koreatown to get a western look, but it was worth it. After a second trip back to Kris, I’ve learned what An learned long ago: to keep looking Asian American, I’ll keep going to Asian beauticians.
CONTRIBUTE
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Adopted into a Caucasian family in rural Missouri, I was indoctrinated at a young age to the woes of finding someone who knew how to work with Asian hair. My mother’s best friend was a beautician, and in second grade my mother somehow talked me into getting a “pixie.” I walked out of the salon looking like Michael Chang. When I got home, my sister nearly spit out her cereal she was laughing so hard. I cried and swore to never have ugly, or short, hair again.