I get my face shaved by sidewalk barbers; stop at every roving laminator I pass to have ticket stubs, photos, and doodles encased in plastic as souvenirs; and will always select a stool surrounded by traffic over a fine dining establishment. Add in the fact that I’ve kept my hair well past my shoulders for decades, and it should be a no-brainer that I regularly frequent tiệm gội đầu. And yet, somehow, last week was my first visit.
I’ll blame my shameful oversight on professional hair-washing’s place in western society. In my native US, paying someone else to wash one’s hair is quite expensive and reserved for fancy salons, and even then, only when accompanying a haircut or treatment. Entirely different arrangements of street and market economies mean one cannot exchange the equivalent of a bowl of phở and a cup of coffee for 20 minutes of careful follicle cleansing.
After my visit to a shophouse providing gội đầu near my home, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same; I’ll never be content to wash my own hair again. I’ve always considered hair washing to be a yes or no skill; such a straightforward task allows no room for doing it wrong or even poorly. My time with Lan proved such binary thinking to be wildly wrong. From root to tip, her fingers, simultaneously forceful and nimble, found untouched strands and stretches to lather with exuberant efficacy. My hair was left softer, cleaner, and more luscious-looking than it’s ever been.
More than a mere matter of cleanliness, the visit was an opportunity for indulgence. Opting for the elevated gội đầu session with neck massage and shoulder massage, the 40-minute experience included hot stones prepped with phở herbs in a rice cooker eased across my laptop-weary neck along with a yogurt soap to soothe my sun-dried face pores. Full massages may be affordable and accessible in Vietnam, but gội đầu is even more convenient (I didn’t even have to unbuckle my belt). If a full spa service is a hearty meal, gội đầu is a refreshing snack that can satiate a midweek craving.
My typical hair wash routine is regularly a matter of quick efficiency that leaves little room for extended shower thoughts. Yet, with no podcast blaring from a Bluetooth speaker to distract me like normal and only minimal chit-chat with Lan, I had extra time for aimless daydreaming. The joys of letting my mind wander like a jellyfish in the current were only interpreted when Lan asked which type of shampoo I wanted. Bồ kết as an option! I fully expected the gội đầu to provide an immersion into Vietnamese culture in and of itself, but I didn't anticipate such ancillary encounters of unique heritage.
In addition to its cultural particularity and the value of having fresh locks, the very process of finding the gội đầu shop was an act of immense pleasure. To locate a humble street hair-washing spot, as opposed to fancy salon, it’s best to look for a Zalo number scrawled on a handmade sign or, better yet, ask around the neighborhood. Google is of little help. In an age of increasingly digital existence, where ChatGPT professes to know all the answers and social media serves as sole authenticator of any activity, offline-only experiences remind me what it means to be a member of human society.
