A few years back I decided to make life easier for my lady barbers in Worcester by having the last vestiges of hair removed from the top of my head. I was taking my cue from my prematurely bald nephew, Tim, who sang the praises of the look and feel of a bald pate. It should be said that, unlike him, I could have held on for a little while before the radical procedure. Nature had already sealed his fate.
Flashback to my younger years. Barbers would go out of their way to say what a fine head of hair I had, to the point of moving their hands through its luxuriously soft thickness. With respect to the two most obvious physical changes in my maturity – gaining weight and losing hair – I always say that I regret what I have lost more than what I have gained. In the last few years, I also regret paying the same amount of money for a haircut that amounts to a glorified trim. I could swallow hard and fork over the Worcester prices, but the Boston prices, for my “hair,” are highway robbery.
But now, now… an existential hair crisis. Like most everyone else, I’ve been cooped up inside for close to three months, with no access to a barbershop. What’s the big deal, you say, since there’s not much there. But hold on. I can live with the soft little sprouts of hair on the top of my head, but it’s the hair that I can’t reach at the back of my neck that is the problem. We have someone in the house who does a creditable job cutting hair, but for some reason he avoids me like the plague. Why don’t you try to cut it yourself, I’ve been asked. Since the offending locks are in a place I can’t reach, I would need to hold up a mirror behind my head while looking at myself in another mirror and maneuvering some scissors with the free hand. That’s not going to happen.
But now, this week, finally, the barber shops are open. With one caveat. You have to make an appointment ahead of time. I understand, social distancing and the rest. But you have to understand this. I’ve never in my life made an appointment for a haircut. I don’t think this is a “manly man” pose, although the idea of going to a hair stylist, those who almost always require an appointment, has given me a little bit of the creeps. And let’s face it, I don’t give a hair stylist much to work with. So now, since the most unpretentious of barbers will take you in only by appointment, once the rush has subsided, I will make my first haircutting appointment. Or maybe find out why my haircutting housemate wants no part of me.
Photo by Alwin Kroon