A Mazformation: Shlids Abroad

The year abroad is coming to a close. Things have changed, one of which is my hair. Being away for longer than a couple of months means that I have had to branch out, follically speaking, from my mother’s marvellous trims and into the uncharted waters of foreign barber shops. Before I reveal some alarming images, I feel I should explain the title of this post. The word ‘mazformation’ is one of my creating. As I’m sure you’ve worked out, I’ve taken the word’ transformation’ and added ‘maz’, a play on my surname. ‘Shlid’ may take more explaining. For those unfamiliar with the term, ‘lid’ can be used to describe a haircut. The addition of ‘sh’ can be read, in this case, as any word beginning with ‘sh’, such as ‘shameful’, ‘shambolic’, or something slightly more uncouth. But anyway, here is a brief look at my foray into the international hair-cutting market, and I’ll let you be the judge…

This what I looked like when I embarked on my year. A chubby, short-haired Wimbledonian, doing my best to fit in with the Tomsk ultras at the football.

A month or so later, my hair had grown, rather unsurprisingly. Apparently, I took great pleasure in pointing my hair out to the Siberians. Looking back, it seems I was unreasonably proud... 

Before long, the addition of facial hair added a whole new dimension. Admittedly, it took a long while to grow and perhaps wasn't the best choice, but it allowed me to bear more striking resemblance to a Russian policeman.

Sergei was an unforgettable part of my year. He introduced me to lots of Russian cuisine, presented me the opportunity to drive a snowmobile and invited me to sit in his lap. Despite my thinking that this haircut is actually quite decent, I have it on good authority that it isn't.

This photograph scares me. The wet fringe is quintessentially Russian, and the wispy, ginger tufts are an eyesore. I think we can all agree that this one takes the biscuit.

By the time I had moved to Brazil, I was sporting rather more dashing locks. Though far from perfect, it was a hugely necessary improvement.

Before long, I had been convinced to start wearing hats. Whether this was to cover my hair or not, it certainly didn't work as a fashion statement.

Carnaval presented fresh opportunities, namely, wearing green dresses and green wigs. It was popular with the locals; I remain convinced by this look.

Over the next few months not much was to change. However, two days ago, I was attacked by a Colombian barber, armed with clippers and scissors. It is quite amazing that here in Medellin, the home of the mullet, my lid is one of the worst.