I’m one of those people that climbs out the shower, dries my hair with a towel and moves on. It should therefore come as little surprise to find that I’m not one for hairdressers. After high school I avoided them at all costs. Waiting until I couldn’t see through the wild bush on my head before begrudgingly making my way to the hairdresser.
After two and a half years of hoping my hair will magically look cool I took to the internet to find the perfect do. The metro sexual in me searched the internet for cool hairstyles and made its way to the salon prepared with over 30 pictures.
To my horror, the hairdresser whipped out products and an iron. I grimaced as the smell of heating hair filled my nose. OK, it wasn’t that bad. In fact, I enjoyed being in control of what was happening with my hair for once.
As you can see by the pictures, it’s not perfect yet, but it’s a step in the right direction. At least I look human again, sort of…
It becomes increasingly apparent that the South Africa I live in is very different to the South Africa our poor population lives in. This isn’t a happy thought or idea. This is a sad, hard reality that our poor have not benefited from the so called democratic South Africa. As a white, male South African, it’s easy to look at what the government is doing and say they’re more racist than ever. And although there’s an element of truth to the statement it’s a very self centred view. After all most great lies have an element of truth in them.
