This is a story of a Malaysian woman who just wanted a simple haircut, not a spiritual journey that ends with RM120 missing from her wallet and a “miracle” serum she didn’t ask for.
It started like every other innocent Saturday: I looked into the mirror and thought, “Hmm, my hair looks like it’s been through GST and three MCOs.”
So I decided, okay lah it’s time for a trim. I walked into this atas salon at a mall. Everything looked so… clean and intimidating. The kind of place where even the air smells like influencer confidence and expensive shampoo.
I asked for a “simple haircut, shoulder length.”
The receptionist smiled, “Of course, miss. Do you want junior stylist or senior stylist?”
“How much is junior?”
“RM120.”
“For haircut only?”
“Yes, wash and cut, miss.”
Excuse me, am I getting a haircut or a minor surgery?
Still, I sat down because I was already there. They wrapped me in that plastic cape like I was about to get baptised into the church of hair care.
Then the stylist came. Let me paint a picture of this persona – trendy guy, blond streaks, half-buttoned shirt, looked like he’d been in a shampoo commercial once.
He took one look at my hair and went, “Oh no… your hair so dry lah, miss. You must do treatment.”
Here we go.
I said no. He said, “But if you don’t do, later your split ends will travel up to your scalp.” (I’m sorry, what science is this?)
Before I could blink, another staff member appeared holding a tray of shiny bottles like a skincare salesman in Sephora.
“This one our latest product, recommended by a famous hair influencer, see? Very good. Usually RM300 but today we give promotion, RM220 only.”
Bro, I came here for a trim, not a TED Talk on celebrity-endorsed argan oil.
By the time I finally escaped, my “simple haircut” cost me RM180-RM120 for the cut and RM60 for a “special leave-in serum” that, spoiler alert, did absolutely nothing except smell like regret.
And the worst part? My hair looked exactly the same as before, just shorter and more expensive.
Fast forward a few weeks later, I was in my neighbourhood when I passed by this small barbershop. RM20 for a haircut.
I stared at the signboard, then at my reflection in the window. The universe was giving me a second chance.
I walked in.
The barber uncle looked up and asked, “Cut short ah?”
“Yah, shoulder length please.”
“Okay. RM20.”
That’s it. No upsell. No influencer name-dropping. No talk about “revitalising treatment package.”
Just scissors, comb, and quiet efficiency. He didn’t even try to make small talk: my dream man, honestly.
And you know what? My hair turned out great.
No shampoo “ritual,” no Dyson hairdryer “experience.” Just a neat cut that did its job.
Twenty minutes later, I walked out RM20 poorer but emotionally richer.
Since then, I’ve been converted.
People say barbers are for men. But you know what isn’t just for men? Affordable prices.
Until salons stop charging women RM120 for a trim and a pep talk about “self-care,” I’ll be sitting in the barber’s chair. No serums, no influencer shampoo, just peace and practicality.
Because sometimes, the best kind of glow-up is not letting someone upsell you into poverty.
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