Pass the hair gel please.

I know I haven't written in months, and I know that's surprising, but rest assured I have a nice, long account of the last two months brewing in my Edit Post box that will be finished, I swear, by the end of the week. I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to share one of my all time favorite things in Turkey thus far because on this day, March, 4th 2010, something that I thought couldn't get any better than it already is, did. Without further ado, I would like to introduce you to something I deem: The Moof (man + poof). Before I discuss this Turkish phenomenon, I'm going to provide a little context so you may understand just how truly beautiful the Moof is.

Once upon a time, lets say...somewhere between 1993-'94, the entire world woke up and realized that big hair wasn't actually attractive, or cool, on anyone. Everyone on Earth realized that for 15 or so years they had blacked out and were unaware of what they actually looked like when they walked into broad daylight. It was an epiphany heard around the world. Men and women abound worked around the clock to rid themselves of as many cans of extra strength hair spray and extra hold hair gel that they could. Crimping irons were selling like hot cakes in second-hand markets to naive, undeserving locals who didn't know better. Left and right, people were tossing products into the trash and only keeping what would provide for a normal, friendly and non-threatening hairstyle. The purge took days and concerned government officials began wondering where all of the excess hair equipment would, rather, could go. After weeks of deliberation, top government officials decided on an area of the world that they just, well, didn't really care what would happen if Earth's supply of hair gel got into the hands of these people. The United Nations, in partner with The Red Cross, was enlisted to paradrop billions upon billions of tons of hair products into an area right outside of what is now known as present day Istanbul, Turkey. To this day, no man is allowed to step foot on the drop zone due to the shared belief that this land is sacred and holy.

Let us now fast forward to February, 2010. A couple friends and I were chatting about our middle school days and just how uncomfortably awkward they were. Lots of platform sneakers were discussed - unfortunately - along with swishy pants from Abercrombie & Fitch and regrettably a lot of straight leg/regular fit (not to be confused with skinny-leg) pants. When it became my turn again to share a traumatizing experience, I was immediately reminded by the unfortunate case of lice that I got in the 7th grade. I got lice and I got it bad. Nevermind the fact that I was already an awkward 13 year old with braces, slightly chubby and chock full of emotions...lice just never, ever, ever, ever makes someone feel better, ever. ever. I had it so bad that I had to put vaseline in my hair and it wouldn't wash out for about a week to a week and a half. Now, I don't have a picture of what it looked like, thanks Mom:), but I have provided two links a la google images that I believe pay some tribute to the creature that was my 13 year old self.

Exhibit A: http://www.thedailygreen.com/cm/thedailygreen/images/ZB/use-vodka-lush-hair-lg.jpg

Exhibit B: http://static.nme.com/images/071113_111549_MCR11_111107_DN.jpg

At this point you hopefully have a nice mental image because it's time to press on with our story, friends! So far we've covered the mass infiltration of styling products into Turkey as well as the perils of being a chubby 13 year old. Now: the Moof! Rewind back to October 15th, 2009. You just moved to Turkey and it's your first weekend in Istanbul. Senses are on overload with the smells of Döner kebab, bad cologne (or body odor - which one is worse?) and the Bosphorus Strait. Your ears are adjusting to the sounds of a language that's not English, the call to prayer, the "scrap metal man" who walks down your street pushing a rickety cart summoning you to give him your broken appliances and the "Simit guy", who yells SIMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT at the top of his lungs on your sidewalk just in case you need a snack (Simit = turkish "bagel") at HIS becking call. Then, there are the sights - the mosques, the palaces, the ancient architecture, etc.. etc... but it's the people that stick out to you most. One particular characteristic, in fact, is the hair. The women of Turkey have long, dark, rapunzel hair that my friend Beth so intelligently pointed out "makes them look like mermaids". They walk around with it romantically cascading down their bodies and you're left wondering how they get away with looking so magical rather than being "that weird girl with the long hair". If they were anything other than Turkish, you'd be judging them because they look more like the female version of Anthony Keidis from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, circa mid-1990's. CASE IN POINT: Kind of like how everyone hated on me last summer when I had hair that went past my shoulder blades. I believe some of you said or were in agreement with something along the lines of "thank GOD you cut it, you were starting to look like a dirty hippy".

The men, on the other hand, do not look like giant mermaids, nor do they look like Anthony Keidis. If they do, or are in any way, shape or form attractive, they've ruined it by choosing a hairstyle that makes them look like they've just survived a dangerous oil spill in their bathroom. Up until today, most of the moofs looked more Johnny Bravo and less the excess bacon grease from Sunday morning breakfast. I swore to myself that I didn't think it was possible for the moof to look anymore mullety-eurotrash than it already it is BUT IT DID! It honestly did, and I couldn't even believe it. It was like Christmas morning all over again. Here I am riding the 29D back to my apartment when all of a sudden at 4.Levent Metro, something shiny..sparkly?!..catches my eye. I swear to God, for a brief second I was brought back to the horrendous bout of lice and the helmet of vaseline that was tightly secured on my head for 9 days. I shuddered not only at the thought of the lice themselves but also the fact that as a 13 year old I had endured 168 hours of "wet" hair. My thoughts quickly came back to 4.Levent as I realized that this sparkly little treasure catching my eye was not in fact my 13 year old self but a man, a Turkish man, DISTRIBUTING FLYERS to any and all pedestrian traffic entering one of the busiest metro stops during prime-time lunch hour. Not to mention...are those are acid wash, distressed denim JEANS?!?! With zippers on the pant legs? I began to weep softly into my sleeve. I thought to myself: this bothers me. This man voluntarily used that much vaseline because he actually thinks he looks cool, or even worse....sexy? And then, what about his hands? What about when he was finished?! How much time did it take for him to wash it off before all the grease was gone? Did it....does it ever go away?

I was stressed, and upset, because I didn't have the answers to any of these questions. I also didn't have my camera which is the worst part because I have no documentation of my little prince. Yet, because I know that this man is out there, I'm optimistic that there are others. Perhaps they all have an apartment together? Or, maybe just a giant bathroom where they sleep, gel their hair, sleep, gel their hair, sleep, gel their hair...and continue this process until someone says, 'Hey! Lets go out in public!', and the rest of them cry, 'Hooray!' And then they all walk out, arm in arm, laughing and just being the little chatterboxes that they are, discussing their favorite celebrities, what 5 items they would bring on a deserted island and how quickly their hair would burn in a rogue fire. From this day forward I'm beginning what I'm calling Moof Watch 2010. Any and all Moof's will be uploaded to this post so please check back frequently.

Time to call it a night....as always, I hope you all are doing great. E-mail updates are always welcome and appreciated:) Lots of love!

XOXO
K