The Good Barber

I didn't really start caring about my hair until the fourth grade.  You know, Right about the time when you start noticing girls, and they start noticing you.  The Bad Kid who sat next to me in Ms. Warnick's class suggested that perhaps I should use some of his gel to replace my Asian Kid Bowl Cut (you know, the really androgynous one) with a more fashionable coiffure.  At first I was a bit skeptical about putting all this gunk in my hair, but it's hard not to trust someone whose hair resembles something out of a Dragon Ball comic.  And so in went the gel, and out went the old me.  After admiring my new 'do in the mirror, I took it for a test run on the black top.  I was immediately sold--girls dig nice hair.

And so from fourth grade through high school I'd take an extra 30 seconds or so in the morning to quickly run a comb and some goo through my hair.  Those who know me know that I'm not the most stylish person in the world, so that 30 seconds was a huge investment of time.  I eventually grew less diligent about goo application and hair care in general.  Moving on to the hippie hotbed of Berkeley only served to accelerate that process. What was the point of conforming to the desires of the Man and looking like a carbon copy of all the other men out there?  I was gonna go my own way.  I was gonna grow my hair out into a robust mane.  Ever since I was a kid I'd always wanted to look like the Chairman from Iron Chef, and this was my chance!  And so the I shelved the gel and forsook haircuts.

The whole "no gel; no haircut" experiment lasted many months.  However, I soon realized that although my hair was growing out, it wasn't growing out into a robust mane like that of the Chairman (I'd learn much later that this was because the Chairman's mane required a perm, something I'd never fathomed).  Instead, my bangs grew really long and just kind of hugged the sides of my face, which served to accentuate its roundness and made me look fat.  My sides and back grew straight out in unwieldy tufts.  It was a big hot mess.  Eventually the combination of "polite" hints from friends and nervous looks from strangers (I guess nothing screams "crazy person" like unkempt hair) reached critical mass.  And so I went to the barber and off with his hair!

At around that time in my life, I was volunteering at this on-campus legal clinic.  The clinic ran in two-person shifts, and mine was with this fairly attractive girl, Diane.  When we first began our shifts a few weeks prior, I'd try to make small talk with her, but it would never go anywhere.

Me: How're your classes this semester?
Her: Good
Me: Oh, mine are good, too.  Which are you enjoying so far?
Her: Yes.

All of this with a frown on her face.  Eventually I gave up trying, and we'd just sit there in silence during our hour-long shifts.  I mention this because the last day of the "Robust Mane Experience" was on a day I had a shift at the legal clinic.  I was feeling mopey after having my hair cut, and moped all the way to the clinic.  But oddly enough, when I got there, Diane was a completely different person.  All smiles and chit-chat.  We talked the whole hour and then some, going to get some coffee afterwards.  To be honest, I was very confused.  I was the same exact person as I'd always been.  Actually, probably less charming and interesting that day because of my surprise that this girl had suddenly decided to talk to me.  And then I recalled the lesson learned many years ago from The Bad Kid,  a lesson recently forgotten but now seared into my memory banks forever more--girls dig nice hair.

And so from then on I've been mustering as much vigilance as is possible for me to muster to keep my hair in a somewhat presentable state (with some lapses--hey, no one's perfect!).  Honestly, the hardest part is finding a decent person to cut your hair--I think most guys can commiserate with this.  And so the times in my life when my hair flirts dangerously with the Robust Mane days are when I'm in between barbers.  You know, like right after you move from one City to another.  Trying out a new barber is an extreme leap of faith.  You sit down in a chair, get covered in a smock so that your arms are immobilized, and then put your faith in some stranger with sharp objects to engage in an extremely delicate and precise task whose success is completely subjective.  Needless to say, it usually doesn't end well.

But when you finally do find The Barber, it's bliss.  I recently found mine after moving back to The Valley.  Chance had brought me into his establishment and his skill level keeps me coming back.  It's gotten to the point where I walk in, sit down, and he cuts.  There's no chitchat or other any attempt from him to engage me--something the introvert in me hates from a barber.  He knows what I want and just quietly goes about his business.

All this talk of hair and haircuts may seem trivial, but I think hair is a crucial part of shaping a man's identity and is a font from which confidence flows.  If you don't believe me, just observe the impotent effect a terrible haircut has on a man.  And so on this Hump Day I hope that everyone out there is having a good hair day.  That includes you, too, ladies. 

-KM

"A la cuisine!"