Shearing the Locks
I usually use Hairess on campus to get my hair cut. When I say usually I mean that I have gone to them to get my hair cut for the past 3 years. I’ve not been wholly faithful, in fact there have probably been as many as 3 other hair dressers in my life in this time, but on the whole I prefer Hairess.
I guess most it has to do with trusting them. If someone is going to be waving scissors around my head I really feel that I need to be able to trust them. I was not always this paranoid but like so many of my phobias I developed it after a painful experience. It was 2008 and my hair was getting a little out of control, so I wandered down to Hairess only to discover they had no free appointments. Being the carefree youth that I was I simply thought, “Oh well, I’ll just go into Fremantle and get one there.” How I would regret that.
I can’t quite remember the name of the place that I walked into but I remember thinking that it looked a little run down. I sat down in the chair and went through the usual routine of explaining what I wanted and the barber went through the usual routine of ignoring every word I said. Nothing really seemed out of place and we made small talk while he snipped away, I’m not usually the best conversationalist when someone is cutting my hair but I think its important to make an effort. The snipping stopped and I was expecting the clippers next. What I was not expecting was the barber to pull out an old fashioned razor and start hacking away at my hair.
This continued for about five minutes and I just sat in horror as chunks of hair fell from my hair. Nothing in my prior life experience had really prepared me for this so I just sat there and smiled weakly while the barber continued his butchery. Finally he brushed the copious amounts of hair off my shoulders and let me get out of the chair with a haircut that looked like something I’d have gotten for joining the army. Nevertheless I paid the gentleman and stumbled out into the sunshine. I’d have paid more than $20 to get out of that place.
So after that incident you’d have thought I would’ve learnt my lesson. Which is why I found myself in Fremantle on Monday looking for a hair dresser and hoping that I wouldn’t stumble into the same place as last time. This time I was lucky enough to find another place, a much more respectable place. The hair dresser at this new place was great but she had one small flaw; she didn’t talk at all. A hair-cut without chatter is simply fifteen to twenty minutes of being forced to stare at your reflection while someone cuts your hair and occasionally moves your head. It’s a form of psychological torture and I would not condone using it on anyone ever. Not even the barber that attacked me with a razor.
I guess the point of all of this is that I’ve learnt my lesson about going to hair dressers that don’t work at Hairess and apparently people will sometime cut your hair with old-fashioned razors. Avoid these people.
4 comments:
Jono, you need to only go to barbers.
Not hair dressers. Not stylists.
Barbers.
They are trained to cut mens hair, which is an entirely different skill from cutting women's hair (for one thing, there should be no scissors involved).
Good haircuts have made my country into the nation it is today, and they can catapult you too to success, if only you stop relying on the wrong sort of professional.
I have to agree with Josh.
Over the past five years I have developed a phobia of hair dressers and hair stylists for the exorbitant prices and their wish to make me look even more androgynous.
Plus, an old school razor gives your manliness a 12 point bonus.
Having had haircuts from both barbers and hairdressers I can honestly say that I have not noticed a difference. I also contest that my haircut is the sole reason that I fail at life. Kieran, I've not really noticed any effort on their part to make me look androgynous and I don't really want my haircut to be some 'macho' experience. I'm happy if my hair just gets cut like I want and it doesn't hurt too much in the process.
I sodding hate mullets.
Lots of Love
Anon
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