Marcelle has been cutting my hair for as long as I can remember. She tamed the wild mane I wore as a little girl. She lopped off my curls as I chose shorter styles as a teenager. She picked the various blondes and reds I sported at university. And she is the only one I trust to cut my hair and not leave me looking like a Christmas tree. But since she is about 13 000km away, and I needed to do something about my split ends darling, I put on my brave face and visited my friend’s hairdresser in Istanbul. He chopped off the ends alright, making me cringe with every snip, but rounded off his cut with a blowdry and style. And all for 10tl (R50). So no complaining here.