Canon's Diary

The weekend I spent in Tokyo passed by in a blur. Between packing for my upcoming move, cleaning the apartment, and making trips back and forth to furniture and electronics stores, there was barely a moment to breathe. I had intended to finish all my work while I was still in Osaka, but I still ended up spending about three hours over the weekend preparing for the upcoming week. On Sunday, I went to the hair salon. I’ve recently started growing my hair out, and now it reaches the nape of my neck. This time I got a hair-straightening treatment, which meant a long three-hour session.

The salon is located just a short walk from home: down a slope, out onto a zelkova-lined street, and about three minutes toward Showa Pharmaceutical University. Although Naruse is technically in Tokyo, it still has wooded hills and a richness of nature. You can even spot long-tailed bushtits, adorably tiny birds, and hear their chirping in the morning. That said, many of the zelkova trees that once defined the street have been cut down due to recent roadwork and typhoon damage, so the grand canopies I remember from years past are now few and far between. What stands out more these days are the sky-blue transmission towers, rising up every 500 meters or so throughout the residential neighborhoods, linking lines from the nearby substation. These 80-meter tall structures have become a kind of symbolic landscape for Naruse.

The salon operates on the ground floor of an old, small apartment building located right at the base of one of those towers. Cozy and unassuming, the salon has a Scandinavian-style beige exterior and decorative brick-like columns. The large glass windows facing the street allow plenty of sunlight to pour inside. When you step through the entrance and sit on the waiting room sofa, you’re always greeted by a large, stunning arrangement of fresh flowers—different each time. The interior is also predominantly beige, with a ceiling fan quietly spinning overhead. The shampoo area is in a separate room toward the back, equipped with black reclining chairs that have motorized footrests.

I’ve been getting my hair cut here since 2012. The woman who’s always taken care of me—let’s call her Shirakawa-san—has been the same for the past 13 years. I first came here on my mother’s recommendation, as it was close to home. In the beginning, I was too shy to really speak. I had this vague idea that salons were off-limits for guys, and I didn’t want to seem like I was trying too hard to look cool. Plus, since Shirakawa-san is a specialist, I felt like voicing my petty little hair concerns would seem trivial or even ridiculous. It was awkward at first. But now, we talk quite naturally. My hair is extremely curly, so it must have been quite a challenge for her. Even when I made strange or unclear requests, she’d respond with a nod, always listening with the same calm tone and accommodating whatever I asked for.

Back when I worked as a sales director at a foreign company, my hair got so unruly that I kept it practically shaved down to a buzz cut. For around eight years, all I had to say was, “The usual, please.” I’ve also forgotten my appointment more times than I can count, which once led my wife to scold me: “Anyone who does that doesn’t deserve to go to a salon.” Even so, Shirakawa-san always greeted me with the same smile and said, “Oh, no problem. When would you like to reschedule?”

She told me recently, “My father, who lives in Nagano, is having more and more trouble walking. We finally had to rent a wheelchair for him.” And then, casually, “The cherry blossoms have mostly fallen now, haven’t they? Last year, I couldn’t take my father out to see them, so I walked along the Onda River, filming the blossoms to show him later.” She shares these small moments with me. But our relationship never crosses a certain boundary. As a professional, she maintains a respectful distance from her clients, never getting too emotionally involved. For this three-hour appointment, she offered streaming videos on an iPad via Hulu, minimizing unnecessary conversation. I ended up watching an anime that’s paid on Amazon Prime but free on Hulu, and before I knew it, the straightening treatment was over.

I admire Shirakawa-san for her consistency and for the balance she strikes—always treating me the same, always professional. The effects of the straightening are amazing. I no longer have to fight with a hairdryer in the mornings, nor do I need to wear a hat to keep my hair in place. Even though I’ve started to go quite gray, I’m beginning to think maybe I could try dyeing it brown after all.

Today, I’m writing from the same business hotel where I stayed last week. Every now and then, I hear the sound of a train passing by. I check in on my family group chat, getting ready for tomorrow.