When the Lone Gunman Needs a Haircut

In my never ending and so far unsuccessful quest for the best and cheapest haircut, I have not made a repeat visit to any hairdresser/hair stylist/hair salon in the last five years.

This means that every time I get a haircut, I go through a conversation like this:

Hairdresser: So are you done with school? College?

Me: Yes.

[slight pause]

Me: I’m [32, 33, 34, whatever age I am that year].

Hairdresser expresses shock.

I explain I look exactly the same as I did in high school.

If I am feeling particularly chatty, I explain that I had about three years when my hair actually looked somewhat different, but have now gone back to my old high school cut.

Hairdresser diverges into soliloquy about the way Asians all look young for their age.

Hairdresser is still wielding scissors, so I decline to say what I’m really thinking, which is that maybe Asians look so young because they don’t have the time/inclination to sit all day in the sun/in a tanning salon and bake on some wrinkles.

Hairdresser: So when did you last get your hair cut?

Me: Three months? No, maybe five. Or six. I hate getting my hair cut, so I let it go as long as I can.

Hairdresser is horrified and picks up a lock of my hair and eyes it dubiously.

I mention casually that I have gone to a different salon every time I needed a haircut in the last five [four, three] years. I try to imply, with suggestive facial expressions, that she/he could be the one to make me break my destructive pattern and actually make a return visit.

Except I never do.

Posted by: ssjane | May 22, 2008 | 4:11 pm
Posted in: This Life