The Haircut: the estacy and the agony.

I went to get a haircut yesterday. It was the first time after almost three months, a fact that was not lost on my hair stylist. “How long have you been away from the barber’s chair?” he asked sarcastically. “Exploring the Amazon the last six months, were you?”

Anyway, I don’t care. Even if I wasn’t in the Amazon, I have been busy and there is no harm in saving some haircut money. Besides, I look good with long hair. Okay, okay, the truth is that I procrastinate. It’s as simple as that but those excuses could be true. The thing that really embarrasses me though is that I was in one of those “Unisex Salons”.

Some of you may think that I am making a mountain out of a molehill (or more appropriately, a wig out of a hairball) but for most of my life I stayed clear of Unisex Salons. One reason for that was an irrational desire to support another male bastion that was under threat…..the barbershop. When I was growing up as a child in Malaysia, it was normal to go to the local barbershop. For some reason, the vast majority are run by Indians. These Indian barbershops were characterised by fancy glass bottles filled with all kinds of cheap colognes, reclining barber chairs and piles of old magazines and comics. Many patrons would ask for a hair style similar to their favorite movie stars like Elvis Presley’s but invariably the most common hairstyle executed was the coconut cut, which basically resembles having half a coconut shell placed on top of the head and cutting whatever hair that was not protected by the shell.

The second and main reason for steering clear of the Unisex Salons was all the pampering that was going on. I was never comfortable with the thought of being pampered to the extent of having someone pedicure my feet or wash my hair. I could not reconcile that belief with the thought of some one having to wash my hair. I thought it must be demeaning…….imagine spending the day washing about twenty strangers hair; sticking your fingers into hair of every conceivable condition from the clean and well kempt to the dirty and smelly. I decided to hold the moral high ground that if I was uncomfortable doing it, I should not expect others to do it for me. Besides, it costs almost five times as much as the old barber shop cut and shave.

That was a long time ago. I have been going to these unisex salons now for over 10 years having been challenged by my wife to try them. The truth is, I still am a little embarrassed by the pampering but I do so enjoy it. Some of these shampoo girls (and occasionally men) have wonderfully strong hands and the feel of their powerful fingers massaging your scalp is really quite exquisitely decadent. It helps me relax and de-stress so effectively. In fact, I am so relaxed that later when the stylist is cutting my hair, I tend to nod off to sleep. Initially, I would get a discreet nudge to get me to wake up but lately the stylist has given up and accepted that I will always be the difficult customer that stays away for months and the present a challenging nodding, flopping and snoring head for the haircut.

Nowadays, I can fall asleep after the relaxing scalp therapy and wake up refreshed from an uninterrupted nap to find my haircut nicely done. I can only guess what mad pranks and odd photographs taken with those camera cell-phones were carried out while I was in the land of Nod.

And so, once every blue moon, I go through this ritual of embarrassment and shame cause I feel so good after. Am I a sick puppy? Do I need help? Sometimes I wonder but then I think of a wonderful scalp massage and all doubts are forgotten.