Chinese film maker Leon Wang shows us in 4 minutes just how and what the T-800 is up to these days. You know how it is with future robot assassin units sent back in time to extinguish troublesome forms of human life…

Sort of ironic as the Apple iPad and iPhones are forming a sort of Skynet… but I suppose they’d call it the iNet or something equally as aggressively assuming.

I set out in search of South East Asia’s best, most mental and wildest convention after party. Ready to cram a night’s worth of supplies into my rucksack and head on a plane/ train / bus /camel to wherever, I ended up watching people cut hair whilst talking about it in Mandarin and was in bed by half past ten. This is my story.

From friends came the rumour that Asia has the tendency to hold amazingly spastastic after-parties at conventions. I’ve always liked conventions, tonnes of giddy people walking around looking at the endless cubicle stalls set up for our pleasure to buy and their business to sell. Often with trade conventions, big name companies within that trade bring their loyal customers over for an allinclusive trip, and no trip for business comes without the after party. The after party, with its VIP access given to us on a silver plate allows us to maintain the high-energy buzz of anticipation we need to ride on throughout the day at the stalls. With all this in mind, I sat at home on my desktop and searched for what big conventions were coming up near Hong Kong. To my unbelievable luck, Guangzhou offered the Hair & Beauty Convention on the 10th of March. At first glance, Hair and Beauty seemed like something I would never normally consider attending, but after a wave of realisation that hair and beauty plus after party meant pretty models and free booze, I gave it a second thought. Another huge factor in being nurtured within the big companies’ breasts is to actually deal in business within their trade. I know nothing about hair other than it grows all over me and it smells when you burn it. It just so happens, however, that my father owns and runs his own salon.

One of the leading companies at the convention is TIGI, the product line that brothers the famous salon Tony & Guy. They are also one of the major suppliers to my dad’s salon. Completely abusing his name and title and weaving a harmless white lie as to what my true intentions of visiting Guangzhou were, I managed to persuade papa to pull some strings and get me on TIGI’s VIP allinclusive trip guest list. Once sorted, I double checked if I’d brought the box of Johnny hats, the flask of Scotch and my iPod for tomorrow’s trip, and jumped into bed only to be led down the dreamy path of questioning whether this kind of lone wolf party chasing is entirely normal. Oh, wait. There are girls over there with very nice looking hair and they allknow my name and…

The alarm woke me up. We were both up. It was time to set off on my quest to rid myself of the shackles of responsibility and worry. With my heavy coat of naivety on, I reached the bus station where I was waiting around with a bunch of aptly dressed modern hairstylist who looked every bit the part. The bus trip wasn’t too bad. I dozed off to music in Hong Kong and woke up to a cheap egg sandwich in China.

The TIGI hosts explained, first in Cantonese and then in English, purely for my sake, that we were going to visit the convention first before we check into our hotel. I wondered if my room was nice. Nice bathtub? A double? I already planned on bugging the reception to send up more pillows for all my new friends to sleep on. We won’t even be sleeping will we? The strains of The Black Eyed Peas’ ‘I Got a Feeling’ were blissfully swirling in my mind.

But then it was up and off the bus. The hefty convention doors were swung open and my group, consisting of tightly dressed locals and my good self, strutted through the behemoth centre and towards our department. That is, the department for cool, eccentric up-towners that talk hair and the frilly models that chase each other backstage. The realisation dawned on me that I was about to enter the celebrity-status lifestyle one only sees on MTV and the E channel. Maybe I can be as smooth as Usher. Yeah, let me in to mingle with your lovelies and I’ll be just as smooth as Usher.

As soon as we walked past security and the turnstiles, I was flooded by a wave of shock and astonishment. Just liked how they were portrayed on TV, just like how you hear the Empire group kids party, it was nothing like what was going on here. I mean nothing. There were but maybe 12 people-maximum walking around. No fancy socialites glittering by. No artsy types with their damsels draped over their arms. Nothing but normal convention goers wandering aimlessly, wondering if they’re even in the right department or not. What the hell is this!!???

After a quick (long) sip of Scotch, I regrouped with the team and consoled myself with fantasies about the after party to come. Not to mention the after-after party that, of course, I would be hosting in my room. But for now, just go with the flow and it can only get better from here.

So, with a rejuvenated mind, we were then whisked away to watch the show TIGI had organised, and with the mention that my group will be seated in the VIP area, my smiles were back on. We all shuffled down to our seats, me not caring much for position as the other members went about chatting salon and hair. After sitting in my language barrier enforced silence, soon enough the show was on. Lights danced around the room and photographers whizzed by our feet, only to take snap shots of apparently famous American hairdressers cutting hair. Well, the one. The rest were local and shared their techniques in Mandarin. This was a hair show, for hairdressers. Hair fell to the ground and models flaunted their new look with fancy costumes that covered most of their parts. It was a waiting game for me, itching for the show to end so I could head to the hotel and start preparing for the party I clearly would have to organise myself.

As soon as the ordeal was over, it was dinner time. A local restaurant with local food. Not a problem. Chinese food in China is always good.

After a belly full of tasty dog (not really), we headed back to the hotel. It gave me the perfect opportunity to scour the streets for the cheap flashing lamps and party strings for my soon-to-be amazing party venue/hotel room. After looking all over expecting to find an abundance of stalls, I managed to only bag one purple and blue flashing tap-light. That’s OK, It’s the people that make the party.

After checking in and sussing out my room, it was time to head off to the fabled AFTER PARTY! The few party goers (some were lame and wanted to “sleep”; they weren’t invited anyways) gathered together and we all shoved into cabs and headed to Mango Music club in the heart of the city. Outside were TIGI posters and bouncers that only let the “cool” in. By default, I was one of them. After wading through the crowd at the entrance I headed over to the bar for my many complimentary beers, and sat/posed, waiting for the shindig to begin.

I can’t express enough how disappointed I was. More bloody hair cutting and talking about it! At the after party! This was no after party. This was just another excuse for the show-offs to cut more hair and show off. No one was dancing, no one was showing anything but their hair. The models darted on stage and off and didn’t even grace the dance floor/my lap. Ridiculous. Not only that, but after the media took their needed snaps, the hosts were ready to head back to the hotel. After realising that this was not the party to be at, I headed back with TIGI to the hotel with the few strands of hope that they would let down their hair once they’re off working hours. Slipping them invites to room 409, I waited with a bucket of beers in my purple and blue lit “night club”, leaving the door slightly ajar with a note stuck outside written on hotel paper, that anyone, literally, was more than welcome to come on in. No bouncers needed, no VIP list.

After half an hour I decided to stretch those few strands of hope but switched the TV on to help my wait. The Wire was a good watch and the bed grew more enticing. The beers were half drunk and there was another episode following. I walked over, closed the door and looked at my phone clock. It was 10:34. Stuff it. Before lights out I put hotel pen to hotel paper once more and added my final fizzle of a party plea, ‘If I’m asleep when you get here just wake me up. It’s cool, we’ll party.” I climbed into bed and slept like a baby.

I’m now back in Hong Kong and I don’t think I’ll be getting a haircut anytime soon.

Words: Alex Lendrum