Christian and I moved to Iceland for many reasons. But the overall understanding was that we moved here to experience change. A change of pace from a life we felt we had outgrown, a change of comfort level to the extreme, and a change of perspective. And, as I’ve said before, I take things too literally. For me, the change could not just be internal. I moved to Iceland to experience it all, and that meant changing on the outside as well. As I watched long haired blonde vikings walking down the streets of Reykjavik, I wanted to experience that difference. I wanted to be native and go blonde. Having been a redhead for all of my young adult life, fitting the color in personality and palette, I decided to embrace change and go for the gold (so to speak). And although I say I did this to mark this new stage of my life, the honest answer is that I was aching for some familiarity in a foreign land. And a trip to an Aveda salon would be just that.
I am overly fond of smells. Ask anyone who knows me well and they will say (although I’m chattier than a youth high on marijuana with a plate of brownies on his lap) that my favorite form of communication is pheromones. Smells are cool. They teach us a lot. And my sense of smell taught me at a very young age that I loved a product line called Aveda. My aunt had bottles of the shampoos and conditioners at her house and I would beg to use them on my own hair so that I could smell of Madder Root and Rosemary. That interest never left me. As I grew older I became even more fond of the product line, their business model, and the idea of getting my hands all over Aveda. Eventually, my interest in the product became an interest in a career. I applied to Aveda Institute Provo and spent a year and a half learning everything I could about Cosmetology and the company. Although I felt like a life with Aveda would be a non-stop spa, hair school was no sanctuary. I was not a natural stylist. I could look the part and act the part, but it took a full year to feel even somewhat comfortable behind the chair. To compensate for my lack of natural talent, I mastered the art of manipulative communication (more specifically, letting guests believe the mistakes I made on their hair would be the next big thing in fashion.) Despite the stress and struggle involved in becoming a stylist, I also gained a lifelong commitment to the Aveda world. That commitment became a comfort when I moved to a new home with little I recognized. It was while walking down the unfamiliar streets of this new country that I found a salon with Aveda products on the shelves and knew that when I needed to feel a piece of home I could slip in a chair, do my hair, and smell something sweet.
Recently that homesickness hit, so I spent all of last night online trying to maneuver my way through Icelandic salon websites and ratings until I found the one I was looking for. I didn’t know the name exactly, and knew for certain that I wouldn’t be able to pronounce it even if I did, but I knew the location. And I knew I needed to go. Slippurinn is in the kind of space you stop and double take when you walk by. And I tend to judge a salon by its aesthetic as voraciously as I judge a book by it’s cover. With cork walls, modern furniture, massive mirrors, and a staircase so cool it goes straight to heaven (the shampoo room) the setting made quite the scene, and I needed to be seated. After multiple attempts at booking a color service on location, and each time managing to get there ten minutes after they closed, I straightened my glasses and braved the confusing world of google translate to schedule an appointment online. After finding the salon’s minimalist website (not in a cool way, in a 1997 internet is hard way) I spent 15 minutes trying to sort out and translate each service into English. In the end all I came up with was that the name of the salon, Slippurinn, means “Shipyard.” After too many conflicting translations I was worried the whole experience would end up being more of a shipwreck. I wanted to bleach my hair, not my nostrils.
After admitting defeat last night I woke up this morning, ravenously ate a spearmint flavored antacid for breakfast, and picked up the phone. I called, booked an appointment, and powered through the winter wind on my way to the salon. I have been hoping to find a salon and stylist I can connect with. For the most part, it’s because my social life has been limited here and I enjoy good conversation. But it’s also because dying my hair will be a long process. I’m going from red to blonde which means months of extensive bleaching, making my hair brittle and breakable – because I like my hair to be as damaged on the outside as I am on the inside. So I needed to find a stylist who would respect the integrity of my hair more than I do, who could give me good “in-between” colors and make sure I take my time to heal my hair and reach my goal. I found that at Slippurinn. My stylist was focused and direct and I left her chair with a gorgeous light blonde color. This was monumentally better than the last time I dyed my hair in Iceland, where I left with highlights that can best be depicted in any photo of Kelly Clarkson from 2002. That experience just left me grateful it was seasonally appropriate to wear hats. Today I was not only thrilled with the new look, but greatly enjoyed the experience.
My time in the salon was the most I have talked to another person (who isn’t my husband) for so long in weeks. And on a note of snobbery, it was grey and storming against the large window I sat beside and the salon was playing Portishead, my personal musical preference for that kind of weather, and I was well pleased. The familiar scent of Aveda’s aromatherapy, tea, and color made me nostalgic in the most comfortable way. I spent my time flipping through Icelandic magazines and asking the stylist overly specific questions about the formula she was using –enjoying her confusion at how well versed I was in the products until I told her the reason I knew it so well – and I left with a happy head of hair.
Living somewhere new is hard, it can feel isolating, but I’ve noticed that with a little effort I have been able to find simple comforts that make this my home. I have found a salon whose products I recognize and can enjoy every 6-8 weeks. And nothing makes me as comfortable as remembering my times in hair school, and realizing I never have to do it again.
Blondes have more fun... hanging out by themselves in public bathrooms while taking selfies.
