The current hairy situation


hairReading the recent story about the “growing hair trade” on Vietnamnet reminded us that there’s a ghost story doing the rounds…. but first the preamble: there’s lots and lots of long, black hair in Vietnam, and it’s famous for it’s long-ness, blackness as well as lustrous beauty, so much so that people with less long and less black hair covet and desire it for making wigs and extensions that will transform them into Lenny Kravitz (back in the days when we had to let love rule or else…). Yes, to some Vietnamese hair is black gold and so some villages somewhere — you know we pride ourselves on specifics and accuracy — in Vietnam decided to cash in on this demand and supply the commodity. The women-folk gather all the stray hairs from all the brushes from all the dressing tables in all the houses and then they roll it all up into a big ball of hair, as big as a tractor wheel, like, and sell it to a roving merchant who then rolls it down the highway to the big smoke — Hanoi or TpHCM — where he sells it to hair salons owned by barbers with Lenny Kravitz-afro era hair dos. This old Timeout (VN) story claimed that ethnic Thai women in Dien Bien Phu had the best hair and therefore the most sought after in the land. But what happens when demand outgrows supply? Well, the same timeout story claimed that a CNN story claimed that someone told them that hair merchants sidled up to women in the street and cut off their long flowing locks, which sounds naughty enough. But there is an even more macabre way to procure hair — that’s right… [prepare to shudder] six feet under, or perhaps, before a body goes six feet under. Which brings us back to the ghost story that was recently doing the rounds on the local interweb, in which a Hanoi girl who has just had her hair extended and is looking a little like Lenny Kravitz (hair straightened era) wakes in the middle of the night — let’s just say for the sake of vivid description, she wakes in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and thinks she hears someone calling her name outside the window but when she looks there’s nothing there, except maybe a black crow, which is strange as there are no black crows in Hanoi. She figures she’s been dreaming, puts on her plastic dzep and shuffles off to the toilet but when she turns on the light and looks into the mirror she comes face to face with… [prepare to shudder for the second time in the same paragraph] some chick she doesn’t recognise and she realises — dun, dun, duuuuu — as she screams that it’s the deceased chick whose hair she now possesses. By the beard of Zeus could this be true? Well, no, but the Comical Hat loves a good old chilling, urban myth/ ghost story as much as the next blog when we’ve nothing else to write about over lunch and we love this one so much we think we’ll even get cracking on a screenplay this afternoon — sort of a 21 Grams meets the musical Hair meets The Ring…  watch this bit of cyberspace for updates.


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