I took a look at the old Kansas music video of their song "How Long" as part of my research for this week's post. My last hair cut was 107 days ago, and while its length got nowhere near the length of the band members in the video, I was starting to get the feeling that we were approaching a point of no return.
This feeling came about when something tapped me on the shoulder one night while I was sleeping. Most of us are not at our sharpest during the sleeping hours, and my immediate thought was, "Who is in here with me?" which was a fair question, as I live alone.
Well, it took me about 1,07 seconds to shoot out of bed and run to the bathroom (ironically my first safe haven) before walking around the rest of the apartment as I tried to calm down. No one was with me, and the culprit that had surprised me and my shoulder was simply a lock of hair.
Things were getting ridiculous.
This all started innocently enough when I visited my salon last November about the time I was signing the employment contract to begin working again. I left the salon that day with a pleasant "Wir sehen uns wieder in Dezember," planning to get another cut just before the new year started, not least of all, to be fresh for the new job.
Because of lock downs earlier in the year, I had previously gone about 2 months between hair cuts. At that time, it made sense to bring things under control. I was actually pretty cautious when I finally got to go back to the salon, but was very pleased to see the measures they had taken to keep everyone distanced and safe.
Nothing was really normal in 2020, but I must say that I enjoyed the monthly visits to the salon during the summer and autumn period; at least I was getting a chance to interact with people. From what I could see, there was really no tremendous risk by visiting a salon, no real increased risk, perhaps better said. It gave me a chance to see people in other parts of the city, at least those people using the U-Bahn.
Then, Germany took the decision to put more restrictive measures in place just before Christmas, and this included shutting all salons. Again, I accepted the decision; the numbers were going in the wrong direction, and the priority was to bring things back under control.
I kind of laughed as I thought about what I would do for my first day in the office getting my photo ID made, but figured it would not be that big of a deal. And, aside from the lady at reception taking the picture, who clearly recognized that she was having to make a photo of a person having a bad hair day and for that reason could not stop giggling, it was really no big deal.
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I was set to spend four weeks at one of the sites in Sömmerda, and as the lockdown continued, I conceded that things could get a little tedious. I was approaching 8 weeks without a salon visit, and the wind and rain in the region were making things a bit challenging on the grooming front.
Initially, I was a little self conscious. I was meeting new colleagues, and needed to show some display of credibility. In truth, no one ever said, "Dude what the fuck happened to you?" but I did see a few eyebrows twitch from time to time.
After my stint in Sömmerda, I am back doing home office, which involves video calls. Again, my role will require interaction with customers, preferably on video (given the current climate), so as we progressed through February, I was getting more agitated. Sure, everyone else was in the same boat as me, but it was getting annoying, all the same.
By the end of last month, I was more than relieved when it was announced that as of start of March, salons would be allowed to reopen after their 2 and half month closure. There were lots of reports in the news about this, and clearly it was a problem that had impacted plenty of people.
On the one hand, we are a vain society, and the industry thrives on people regularly getting their dos, the color jobs and whatever. My mother kept to a very strict "every 3 weeks" routine for her hair cuts, and my grandmother still makes weekly trips to the beauty parlor.
I do not consider myself to be particularly vain, but I have always liked the regular trips to the salon, myself.
As a child, I was fortunate to have an old-timey barbershop in my neighborhood, and that was where I got my very first hair cut from Jerry, the owner who went on to cut my hair until I was 17. At Jerry's, I got to read old magazines about fishing and hunting while I waited my turn. He always allowed me to take a bottle of soda from the fridge. Jerry smoked heavily, during the hair cuts themselves, and it all seemed to fit. My dad went there, too, which is why I was taken there from an early age. Getting to climb on the booster seat that enabled a small child to sit in a proper sized barber chair was a treat, as was getting a squirt from the air compressor at the end of the cut (which took all of 12 minutes, maybe) as Jerry blew the loose hairs off of me. I know he enjoyed doing that with everyone, particularly children, but he continued to do it with the same smile on his face even as I was a teen-ager.
When I think of fond memories from my childhood, I will never forget those trips to the barber. It just seemed to be a safe place and fully of happy thoughts. It never really occurred to me that other kids might have had similar feelings, but then one day, when I was 18 or 19, I was riding down the street with Chris, and he pointed out his barber shop as we drove by. "Wait, that is (or was) my barbershop, too," I said, quite surprised that someone who did not grow up in the neighborhood (or even the state) would even know about the cool barbershop on Arapaho. That was when I realized that a lot of people like the old-timey experience of going to the barbershop. Seriously, it was like being in the Andy Griffith Show.
Then, one day in 1986 or early 1987, my sister introduced me to the salon of Toni and Guy. It was slick, modern, and cool. My sister had been going to a stylist for a time, so I naturally went to him, too. It was a whole new experience, and one that I really liked. It was my first experience in a coed salon, in fact, most customers back then were women (or better, girls). This was a stark contrast to the very masculine environment at the barber shop I knew. Additionally, the process took a whole lot longer, usually about an hour. I would sit in the small waiting area, where all the magazines were more glamour books, filled with the latest styles for both men and women. Most of the time they would offer a hot beverage (like an espresso), which I thought was particularly cool, though similar to grabbing a bottle of Nehi out of the cooler at Jerry's. Then, they took to you to get your hair washed.
Ooh. Lovely.
All of this happened before I even got to see my stylist.
The experience, in my opinion, was really worth it. True, it was not inexpensive, but once I was regularly going to Toni and Guy, I was paying for the cuts myself. My mom actually made me go in and tell my barber Jerry that I was "abandoning" him, but there were no hard feelings, and I know he could understand that it was time for me to move on.
My salon experience was an extension of my growing independence. My original salon visit was at NorthPark, meaning I would get to drive by myself somewhere further than around the corner from the house. I eventually was going to the Galleria with frequency, and as I was tending to follow my stylists, if they moved, I had to go with them.
Sadly, in those early years, two of my stylists did lose their lives to AIDS. I grew up very tolerant and accepting of others, and while I was certainly aware of the stylists working at the salon who were gay, it was usually because they said so. The whole environment was so open and accepting, and had such a good vibe. A couple of years later when I was in college, interacting with a lot more ignorant people who kept stating very homophopic things (ie...like early Eddie Murphy kind of stuff), I was regularly standing up and explaining the obvious about how attractions work, etc. I was so used to being around people from different sexual orientations, and it made no difference to me.
During college, I would schedule short trips back to Dallas (only about an hour away) for my monthly visits. I have long since forgotten a few of the names and faces, now just brief memories, but one day, after my previous stylist had moved on to another job, I found her.
Constance.
Like with waitstaff in pubs, I tend to develop crushes. And with Constance, it was a huge one. She was absolutely one of the coolest girls I have ever met in my life. When I first met her, she was at the Prestonwood Toni and Guy location, and I looked forward to each visit. Not only was she really cool and cute, she was an excellent stylist, and worth the experience.
After I got over my shyness (which lasted for about 2 years), we were able to talk about all kinds of things, from music to art to travel to whatever. About the time I moved into my first apartment, she had switched to a salon location more on my side of town, but as I was regularly driving all over the city already, it made no difference where she was. I would be there, too.
Eventually, she moved to a salon at one of my most favorite shopping centers in the city, at Preston and Northwest Highway. It was no longer a TandG, but that no longer made a difference. People spend a lot of time searching for the perfect hair dresser, and when they do, they stick with them forever.
I was doing the exact same thing, with the added element of the crush.
One evening, I went to a Peter Murphy concert, and in one of those cool moments, I bumped into her and her friend. We proceeded to enjoy the concert together, both of us being particular fans, then went out for a few more beers. We all had a beer or two too many, but it was a super night out, and we said as such as we all went home at the end of the evening.
I stayed with Constance for the next couple of years as she moved to one or two different salons. As a woman with her own agenda, she started talking about plans to move away, which, despite my own similar feelings of wanting to do the same thing, I was not ready for her to go.
Funny how the timing came about. Mid 1996, after being a client (and friend) with Constance for over 5 years, I got an opportunity to consider relocating to Massachusetts. Meanwhile, she had left another salon, and was preparing for a move herself. She did continue to offer a couple of cuts from her living room, and then informed me she was moving to California, which is where she grew up.
I was devastated, but at the same time very distracted with my own situation, as I was soon to be in Boston, myself.
Now, the details are a little sketchy now; I know I missed her going away party, but I did get a chance to say goodbye, and I also had her address. Yes, I was still writing letters in those days.
So Constance disappeared, and I never really got a chance to express myself (I tend to need more than 5 years).
But, with the preparations of my own move, there was no time to dwell on things. Furthermore, I was now in a little pickle, because I had no stylist to turn to.
Enter Anita, a nice woman who I knew from my local pub. Julie, one of the waitresses that I also had a crush on (as did the rest of the fucking city) suggested Anita, and pointed out the other girl serving drinks across the room. I had a quick chat, and made a quick appointment.
There was a brief panicky moment when my world suddenly went on double-tilt, as I suddenly was speaking with a cute girl who happened to be both a waitress and a hair stylist. But, Anita's boyfriend (or husband, at least soon to be) was also a mutual acquaintance, so things stayed ok.
Anita was particularly great because she brought a whole new change to my hair. Turns out she was only waitressing to help out a little at the pub. She was quite the capable stylist, and proceeded to cut my hair extra short; a look and style I kept for the next many years.
Anita cut my hair only the one time before I left for Massachusetts. Shortly after I got settled into my new apartment and was starting to look for a new salon, I was surprised to receive a letter from...
Constance.
I no longer remember who wrote to whom first, but in all likelihood, I wrote the first letter, before I moved. She had the good grace to write back, and I received the forwarded letter in Boston. By this time, at least through writing, I had expressed my secret crush on her, and kind of expressed why I had never made any effort to pursue any kind of relationship with her, using the grounds that it was a a little unprofessional. By that, I mean it was for the same reasons that I never tried to act on any of the crushes that I had had on waitstaff at my locals, and have stayed true to this pretty much ever since. The self defeatist in me prefers not to disrupt a good experience (like pub time or a good haircut) with emotions that might result in awkward situations.
What did come as a bit of a surprise was that Constance had written that she, too, had had feelings for me. Strong enough that at times she had struggled to hold her feeling back, but not so strong that she did not wisely recognize pretty much the same thing as I had done. We come across people in our lives, but sometimes the stars are not aligned, and we need to go our separate ways. At any rate, it was a special thing for me, and as much as I am glad to have had that experience, it has been years since I have given it much thought, choosing instead to appreciate all the things that HAVE happened in the 25 years since.
When Boston came to a close, I returned to Dallas, and sought Anita again. My experience at the salon in the north was not horrible, but it was not great. True, my bar had really been set high. Anita was delighted to have me as a client again, and I was a really proud customer and friend over the next years, up until I moved to Europe. During that time, she changed salons twice, then built her own salon in the back of her house that she shared with her husband. They lived a few streets away, and I saw them regularly as we tended to run in the same circles. I ended up playing soccer with the husband on the Dubliner team, and was around for the birth of their son. Really nice people they are, and Anita was particularly nice. I had a guilty moment of having a crush on her one day as she was finishing my cut. She remarked out of the blue, "We found a puppy," which was just a very random but sweet thing to say. Anita was on the quiet side, and I am not so chatty in the barber stool myself, so many salon experiences were just quiet and pleasant; the appreciation was always there, for not only appreciative clients, but also that one does not always have to gab away in the hair salon.
The timing kind of worked out, because as I was preparing to move to Europe, Anita and her husband were preparing to move to Seattle, which is where I believe they still live. Alas, I have not kept in contact with them, though both Anita and her husband were quite excited about my new start in Europe.
I returned to my old Toni and Guy ways once I got to Europe. I tended to visit the Valencia salon even after I moved to Germany. But, I have been a regular client of my Frankfurt location, despite having had 5 stylists over the years. Four of them moved on to other things, including two pregnancies, and I have been happy with my girl these past four years. The salon experience is still great, and I hope my girl continues for the next while at least.
No longer is it as important that my stylists are of similar age, like Constance and Anita were. But, I need to be able get on with them, and recently, finally had the pleasure of my stylist making a suggestion on how to cut my hair. Unlike Constance and Anita, who were really creative and would offer suggestions about styles, etc, everyone I had worked with was reluctant to offer their own opinion, and I had missed that.
True, part of the reason for the recent suggestion was due to the length of time (and hair) between salon visits. No one, including myself and my stylist, had ever seen just exactly what happens to my hair when you go almost 15 weeks without a snip.
When the restrictions were relaxed at the beginning of March, I arranged an appointment to return to my local Toni and Guy, and was so glad to go in and see everyone after the long break. The experience went well, and I really feel for those who work in industries that are particularly impacted by the pandemic; they went through some really rough times.
On my way to the salon Thursday afternoon, it started raining buckets the moment I stepped out of the apartment. The quick walk to the U-Bahn station resulted in a very soppy Bryan, and 15,86 weeks of wet hair was quite a shock for all the people I saw hurrying down the street. Fortunately no one had time to stop and gawk, they did that once we were on the platform waiting for the train. One lady almost tripped and fell, but I motioned that I was on my way to get the mess taken care of.
Sure enough, the sun came back out right as I was finishing my visit. My stylist put some product in my hair, stating that it was kind of windy outside, but I was okay with it. It is a little longer than previous cuts, but why not try something new?
I truly hope that I do not have to wait so long between salon visits, but am quite glad for the memories I had time to think about while I was waiting these past months. While I hope things are good for Anita and her family, I really hope that Constance is doing well. In fact, I choose to believe so.
So, my latest cut is in honor of a Champion.
see you out there
bryan
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