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The holidays are a special time for most people. They imply a lot of things. Family, thankfulness, and a general sense of togetherness are on everyone’s minds once Halloween cools down and November draws on. We smile at the thought of seeing our family and loved ones. Well, it’s either that or we try to rehearse the stories we tell them so as to not make ourselves sound like we fucked up somewhere along the way.
I’m no different. The second November hits, I start thinking about family, friends, and whether or not I want to start sending out Christmas cards this year. However, the idea that’s consistently seared into my brain, the one that keeps me up at night, drilling away at my sanity and causing me to break fingernails and develop heartburn, is that I’m probably going to have to get a haircut.
I don’t know how it happens, but every year, I neglect to groom anything above my shoulders for anywhere from 6 weeks to three months until Thanksgiving rolls around. For the last few years, I haven’t really seen my family in the weeks leading up to the holiday, so my parents had no idea what I looked like until I stroll through the door on the afternoon of Blackout Wednesday, hair unkempt, beard untrimmed, all met with eyerolls on my parents faces.
“Can you just, I don’t know, keep it a little clean? I don’t care if you grow a beard, just keep it clean, you know?” That’s more or less what my mom says every year. Then she’ll look at my hair and shrug, knowing that there’s no chance I’ll get it cut by the time family starts rolling in and the photos start snapping.
But this year, it’s different. This year, I’m prepared. I was determined to nip any of those conversations in the bud. I put a date on my calendar to get my haircut with enough time in advance to grow into it so that it looks great for holidays. This was the year for the comments from friends and family alike on how great my hair looked in the holiday photos.
There was only one thing standing between myself and the photogenic version of myself soon to come: the fact that I absolutely hate getting a haircut.
Some people are into it. They have a relationship with the person who cuts their hair. They enjoy the small talk and the snip of the scissors and the fingertips of another person rubbing their scalp. The smell of generic aftershave and talcum powder soothes them, calms them, and when it’s all over, they stick around for a few minutes to chat and hang out.
Nope. Not for me. Ever since I went away to college I’ve had trouble getting up nerve to get a haircut, mostly because there’s just so much that can go wrong. Have you ever had a bad haircut? That shit will follow you. And that’s not even the worst that can happen. Think of all the shit they have in a barbershop. Straight razors. Electric clippers. Dim lighting. A funhouse-like mirror set up. A series of guys who all get stoked to cut things on a daily basis. Am I describing a barbershop or an Icelandic torture house? You decide.
But the worst part—the worst part—is the small talk.
I don’t like small talk. I like to talk about things that I have in common with someone, and myself. Small talk is not involved in either of those circles. Oh, it’s snowing outside? Yeah that fucking blows because now I have to walk home in that. Wow, you’re from Utah? Long way from home, huh? What brings you here? A change? Dude you’re giving me nothing to work with here. Gavin, I’ll be honest, all of this after waiting for half an hour in a completely unorganized line while King Kong: Skull Island plays on a TV from 1998? I’ve had better chats with Uber drivers on my way home from the train station because it was raining. I’m paying you too much.
It’s not that I have anything against Gavin. He seems like a nice guy. I guess my problem stems from the idea of getting your haircut in general. What do you talk about? How personal of a connection should I make? Sure, I’ll thank you, but like, do I have to give you thanks if you botched my haircut? Not to say that he did, I think I look like a less attractive Brad Pitt from Fury. But what’s the protocol for if I did?
I guess that’s a question for a different time, because as much as I complain, Gavin fucking nailed it. Bring on the holidays..
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Charlie
Using sarcasm as a defense mechanism since 1993. At any given moment I'm either tired, drunk, or stressed out. Get at me at charliepgp@gmail.com or whatever.
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Go see my guy Ron at Madison Hair Styling down in the loop. Old guy who keeps a pack of reds in his front pocket and talks sports. $20
You need to work your network and find a recommendation. Getting a haircut should be a major confidence boost to your week. Walk out of there feeling like Ted DiBiase.
I tip extra if you don’t talk me to while cutting my hair
You need to pick a single barber. Then you go every four to six weeks and build a rapport with them so it’s something you look forward to. An oasis in the existential despair of white-collar drudgery.
Love getting my hair done because I get to gossip for 3 or so hours.
I got the best haircut of my life a few weeks ago, and I will never set foot in that establishment again. The lady was awful. And not just talking about things that came up, more of just her rambling about her kids and the public school system and politics
As a guy who has been putting off my haircut for about a month and is finally biting the bullet this afternoon, I couldn’t agree more.
Can’t wait to sit and wait for 30 minutes to then have someone talking to me while cutting my hair. Can we all just agree that doctors, dentists, and barbers shouldn’t ask me questions while they’re actively working?
This sharp cheddar looks best about 4 weeks after a haircut and about a week before it’s so out of control that I get comments about needing to get a haircut. Only place I’ve been able to find that cuts it right is 40 bucks. It kills me every time.
Jesus, $40 for a haircut that’s insane. I drop a crisp $20 and that covers it. Albeit it’s Canadian dollars so it’s basically like $3 American but still
Not trying to be condescending, but have you tried the photo method? Snap a few shots of your ole gourd once the coif is where you like it and show the barber. Anyone worth anything should be able to get you pretty damn close since it’s your actual head and not someone from a magazine with a different shape and grow pattern. If even this has failed, my condolences.