Qatar #6 – The Secret World of Women

Qatar has made me a pampering addict.  In America friends and family had to bribe me to get a pedicure.  Ironically, now people ask me for beauty salon recommendations. 
 
Massages, make-up and manicures are enjoyable, but my addiction is more … anthropological.  I go to the beauty salon to meet women.  Because they are off-limits to men, salons are one of the few public places in Doha where Qatari women roam uncovered. 
 
As a western woman in an Islamic state I have the advantage of participating in the public world of men and the private sphere of women.  I am what my boss calls the “third gender.”  Therefore, I am becoming a beauty parlor spy.
 
I’ve visited classy and budget salons, independent beauticians and cavernous beauty super-centers. Through my fieldwork, I’ve found that beauty parlors in the Middle East are as diverse in services and clientele as those in the States.
 
The first salon I visited was a bit tricky to find.  “Drive until the paved road ends, making a right at the car dealership – then look for the faded blue gate.”  An Indian co-worker referred me to this salon where I my eyebrows were efficiently threaded by an Indian woman in a labcoat for a four dollar fee.
 
While wandering through a working class neighborhood, I followed a “Men Not Allowed” sign into a salon run by Arab women.  With wide-eyes, I watched butt slapping, heavy make-up reapplication and the telling of racy jokes. The bra straps, tank tops, colorful eye shadow, hair extensions and thick blonde highlights publicly hidden under black abeyas were striking.
 
Male stylists are only allowed to work in hotel beauty salons, where many strict Islamic laws aren’t enforced.  Recently, a fashionable Qatari student helped me get an appointment with her Lebanese stylist.  Reputed as the best in Doha, Marcelle has a popular following of mostly Qatari clients who fill his tiny shop at the Intercontinental Hotel.  Despite having an appointment, I had to wait an hour and a half for his $50 haircut.  The Qatari girls gossiping with me in the waiting room were renting hair to wear to a wedding.  Apparently hair extensions are the trend in Qatar, albeit pricey.  To purchase a set costs $700; the more economic option is a $90 weekend rental.
 
The most meaningful beauty salon anthropology lesson was unintentional.   On a whim, I stopped at a large, pink salon in a guarded compound where no one spoke English.  I pointed downward and repeated “pedicure” until the Arab receptionist led me past a group of Filipina beauty technicians to a room upstairs. 
 
Five unoccupied salon chairs and the lone beautician, Teresa, hardly filled the large space. When I saw Teresa’s teary eyes and weak smile I knew there was a reason for my visit. 
 
As she prepared the footbath, I tried to make conversation.
Where are you from? “The Philippines.”
How long have you lived in Doha? “One month”
And then what I knew my mother would say – tell me about your children …
 
I think I was the first person in Qatar to ask Teresa about her two daughters, still living in Manila with her husband and parents.  They are why she came to the Gulf.  She wanted to send them to school, or as she promises her six year old crying for mommy, to buy a My Size Barbie. 
 
Teresa lives in a compound with other South Asian female service workers who are transported to and from the salon six days a week.  Like thousands of other expatriate laborers in Qatar, Teresa works long hours for minimal pay, little respect and with “severely restricted worker rights.”
 
The initial aim of my social study of beauty salons was to interact with Arab women.  The lasting lesson of my project turned out to be much deeper.  Teresa reminded me why my pedicure was so cheap – and how fortunate I truly am.