My Hair Disaster in Da Nang
An expat’s honest (and hilarious) story of a Da Nang perm gone wrong. From salon shock to frizzy regrets—this is one hair adventure you need to read before booking that appointment.
The Day I Got Electrocuted for Curls: An Expat Hair Story from Da Nang, Vietnam
Alright, here goes. Confession time. Deep breath… I perm my hair.
Yes, yes I hear the collective gasp echoing across cyberspace. But why? you ask. Let me explain before you judge me like it’s 1980.
I actually have naturally wavy hair. For years, it was very long, wild, and fairly forgiving. But as I’ve gotten older, it’s crept shorter and now rests on my shoulders except the top half, which because of the weight pulling it down refuses to participate and just lies there, dead straight.
So, to even things out and channel my inner curly goddess, I get it permed. Because deep in my soul, I am not a “flat hair” person. I am a curly girl, and my hair needs to keep up with the rest of my personality.
Back in Perth, this was no issue. I had Franca. The holy grail of hairdressers. Italian, warm, brutally honest, and able to turn straw into silk without even flinching. She’s been doing my hair for years colours, cuts, perms, everything in between. Even when I had my maybe red phase. She didn’t flinch.
But now I live in Da Nang. And Franca, cruelly, does not.
I’ve managed to find someone decent for colour here (a small miracle in itself), but a perm? That’s been a challenge. After a few disastrous cuts and lots of tears in Bali, Krabi, and one unforgettable moment in Saigon that ended with me looking like a carrot, I’ve been hesitant.
So, I did what any modern woman does: I turned to Google, Facebook groups, and forums full of helpful strangers and cat profile pictures. Eventually, a salon emerged as the chosen one. Great reviews said they were “experienced with western hair,” and promised perfect perms. I booked the appointment and was optimistic.
The salon looked promising. Clean, calm, fifteen staff gliding about like they were in some kind of slow-motion hair-themed ballet. One stylist greeted me with Google Translate at the ready. We went through photos, I explained what I wanted, and she nodded confidently. So far, so good.
They suggested a treatment first because apparently, my ends were dry (fair enough I swim daily in a chlorinated pool). The price was a little too close to what I’d pay in Australia, but I was already sitting in the chair, and I was in too deep already.
Cue: the K-pop dressed stylist looking like she just stepped off a music video set with a cross-body satchel filled with scissors and sass. She started trimming. I mentioned several times I wanted it layered and the top and fringe shorter. She said she’d do that later. She didn’t.
Then came two more stylists let’s call them Team Moisture who spent over an hour applying treatment to every strand of hair like they were handling fine silk. Then, they left it in for another hour. At this point, I was starting to miss Franca and questioning all my life choices. Still, the head massage was amazing, so I was willing to keep the faith along with whispering silent prayers to the hair gods.
Eventually, we got to the perm part. I sat up, expecting to see the usual setup rollers, perm solution, the works.
Nope.
They wheeled over what I can only describe as a cross between a UFO and a medieval torture device. Now I have never been to an electric chair or had electric shock treatments, but I felt I was about to experience it now. I stared at it and considered running.
First, they applied a mystery solution to my hair. No perm rods yet. Just liquid. Then, after a long wait, they finally brought out the rollers one size only. Hmm. I questioned this with Google Translate. No problem they smiled. (It was absolutely a problem.
Then it got weird.
They plugged wires into the rollers yes, wires and turned it on. Instantly, I could feel heat. Not a gentle warmth a sizzle. Not even a toasty headwrap situation. I’m talking “I might be cooking” level heat. I called out. Two staff rushed over and started fanning my head with hairdryers.
Now this is not a sentence I thought I’d ever write, but: I got mildly burned by a perm machine in Da Nang. Yes. Actual burns.
“How much longer?” I asked.
“Two more hours!” K-pop smiled brightly.
At this point, I texted my husband: “Still alive. But if I don’t make it home, I’ve been electrocuted by the Perm machine all in the name of fashion.
After FIVE HOURS, they finally removed the electrodes, washed my hair, and spun me around to face the mirror.
What stared back at me wasn’t curls. It was ridges. Not soft waves. Not volume. Just what I can only describe as crinkle-cut chips. On top of that, the top of my hair the bit I actually came in for was still very flat and straight.
They all stood around smiling, filming me on their phones. “So beautiful!” they said.
I sat there, mute numb. They then slathered my head in mousse and serum, trying to create curls with product. I don’t use product; I reminded them for the hundredth time. “Only for special occasions,” I muttered. Like funerals. Or this one, apparently.
I paid. I left. I got in the Grab in tears. I went home. My husband bless his soul told me it looked fine. A word only acceptable when describing IKEA furniture, not your hair. I took that as a sign he wanted to live.
Result
Washed it two days later. The top refused to curl, the back tried too hard, and the middle looked confused. Basically, my hair is having a meltdown, and I don’t blame it. I am off to buy product a new hat and perhaps a wig.
So, what’s the takeaway?
Silence from me is rarely a good sign. It means I’m quietly replaying every bad decision and this one’s right up there. I broke the golden rule never cheat on your hairdresser.
Franca, if you ever read this, I admit it, I was wrong. I thought I could find someone else. I couldn’t. And if you ever decide to open a salon in Vietnam, I can guarantee you’d have a waitlist of expat women here who would probably throw you a parade.
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About the Author:
Sheridan-Leigh is the passionate voice behind the MyLifestyle Blog, where life is celebrated with vibrant stories and insightful travel tips. With a deep love for slow travel, she believes in truly experiencing each destination, creating connections beyond the surface. Her blog is a blend of personal stories, expert advice, and a philosophy that life is for living to the fullest and is rich with opportunities for growth and adventure. Join Sheridan-Leigh as she shares her journey, inspiring others to embrace life, travel deeply, and live fully.
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