Every man has a barber. It’s a special relationship.
I have the Turk. I call him the Turk because he’s Turkish. The Turk is the only man in the world that truly understands me.
The Turk knows. He knows me. He knows that I don’t want to talk. I don’t care about the footballs, the crickets, the trumps, the labor or the liberal.
The Turk just nods. I nod back. He knows.
Then the Turk grabs his clippers and shaves my head down to the skin. I’m in and out in ten minutes.
Do you want to know what’s the best part about the Turk? The Turk doesn’t charge woman’s prices.
The Turk knows I’m not some hysterical female that feels compelled to spend the equivalent of a mortgage payment on a haircut.
The Turk isn’t running some kind of effeminate beauty salon. The Turk’s operation is for men and it’s man prices the Turk charges.
I’ve known the Turk forever.
But sometimes I’m away from home, away from the Turk. In these times my hair still grows.
All the men in my family are bald. Long ago I chose to ride on the wings of destiny rather than struggle against her. The Turk shaved my head. I’ve never looked back.
Over the years I’ve become so accustomed to my hairlessness that just 3mm of growth is enough to make me feel like a dirty hippy.
I might be away from the Turk, but I still require the services of a barber often.
And herein lies the problem.
You see, going to another Barber is like cheating on your wife. Yea, another Barber can do the same job as the Turk. Maybe he could do it better or worse. But, the whole process is wrought with anxiety and guilt.
Concubine barbers don’t know me. They talk. They ask me stupid questions like what do you do for a living and where are you from?
Do you want to know what’s the worse thing about going to another Barber? Sometimes they charge woman’s prices.
There are these new age barber philosophies out there promoting some kind of weird Marxist gender equality.
“A woman pays on average ten times more for a haircut than what a man pays.”
These new age barbers are levying a “man tax” onto their prices. They also want you to do equally emasculating things like make an appointment and listen to house music.
The Turk would never abide by such madness.
Going to another Barber is a roll of the dice. And today was one of those days when the dice were rolled.
I walked into the closest barber shop I found on Google maps. The shop was completely empty apart from a young man sweeping the floor.
“Do you have an appointment?” The young man asked.
I returned to the same barbershop exactly one hour and twenty-five minutes later. Five minutes early for my scheduled appointment.
Twenty minutes after my arrival the haircut began and so did the awkward conversation.
“Where are you from?”
“Australia.”
“Nice. I have a cousin in Australia.”
“Yea, me too.”
“What brings you here?”
“Work.”
“Oh, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m kinda unemployed at the moment.”
The haircut was done well enough. However, shaving a head isn’t the most precise of procedures.
Then something strange happened. The chatty barber finished his work and did that thing where he holds up a mirror so you can inspect his craftsmanship.
I knew the drill and nodded with enthusiastic approval every time he repositioned the mirror giving me an alternate view of the piece.
Then he said, “I will shampoo your hair now.”
“Wh.. wh... what hair?”
But it was too late.
The chair was swung around and before I knew what was happening the back of my head was resting in a sink and a towel was draped over my torso.
I was confused. It didn’t make sense.
I heard a faucet open and water began to run. The warm water then ran over my hairless head. Then I felt the unfamiliar coldness of oily shampoo oozing onto my scalp.
I’ve always liked girls.
Really, I have.
But, when those hairy man hands begun to massage that shampoo into my hairless scalp, I was instantly transported into a mystical realm of man on man sensuality I never knew existed.
It felt like I was falling into a deep sleep. But, it wasn’t sleep. No, not sleep. This was more than sleep. This was bliss.
This was the 7th level of enlightenment. I was now like the Buddha. I had transcended the physical world and was reborn as light itself.
This was the universal oneness with all living things the yoga vegans had told me about.
I never wanted that moment to end. I wanted to stay there in that place of peace and serenity forever.
The Turk never made me feel like that.
But then I felt warm water being washed over my head again. Then a towel. And suddenly I was back.
Some weird chemical was rubbed on my head and face that made me smell like a toilet in an expensive hotel.
“All done. Everything ok?”
I nodded and smiled sheepishly still drunk on our shampoo love.
I felt dizzy as I walked up to the counter, barely able to keep my balance.
“What do I owe ya?” I asked.
Woman’s prices.
I picked up my jaw from the floor, reattached it to my face, and reached for my wallet.
And, as I handed over a sum of money that is equivalent to what most people in the country I’m in earn in a day I began to wonder.
The Turk, like me, was a dying breed. A relic from a different age.
The world had changed. Barbershops would never be the same again.
I found myself laughing out loud in more than one passage. This is just great. I think that every man on earth can realte to this piece.
It is amazing the things some fancy places would do to actually convince people that the useless stuff they get in these establishments actually justify the outrageous prices. They have succeeded quite easily.
And we wonder who was sillier. :)
Lol! There is something about heteronormativity that has to be worked around so that men can encage in physicalcontacts liek this without the fear of homoeroticism questioning their orientation.
That's why I never allow a service without having asked about the price first. I have never been friends of fancy places that offer the same service you can get 10 times cheaper, but charge you for the priviledge of using their furniture and breathing their scented air.
Unfortunately, as you suggest, some changes are here to stay, much to our chagrin
Great story. I laughed so hard I started snorting. Glad to see curie picked you up!
I also embraced my destiny some years ago and bought some clippers for less than the price of a womans haircut. My wife then got once chance - which she blew for trying to shear me like a sheep - and I've been doing it myself ever since.
I have on rare occasion sought out a barber if I needed a formal cut (maybe 4 times in the last 10 years) but the risk of getting caught between a barber that's too chatty or charging womens prices is quite the vice.
How do you avoid missing spots at the back?
As you say yourself "...shaving a head isn’t the most precise of procedures."
When shaving I find it easier to feel rather than see what I'm doing but I do use a couple of mirrors. I do also let the missus check and tell me if/when I've missed a spot, but I can do that without letting her get hold of the clippers ;)
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ehi @christosthegreek, I love your story! You described it perfectly, step by step. I agree that changing a hairdresser is like betraying my wife, but perhaps because we are afraid of leaving our comfort zone :-)) and sometimes change is good: you enjoyed a lot of lover's shampoo !! but yes, women's prices are really exaggerated, and not always deserved !!
Hahaha, this is why we want to get our haircuts.. it's because of the treatment that you get and you can relax for a few minutes and enjoy the moment, lol. But those prices..
My husband shaves his head and he refuses to go to a barber shop for the reasons you mentioned. He just wants to have it done.. no chit chat, no money spent.. maybe you could think of investing your money in a good shaver instead of make sure that you visit the same barber all the time :)
Congratulations on your curie vote!
haha right, a barber is a true friend. I shifting my home recently, oh boey I am still struggling to find a good salon with that particular persons 'Pooja' who used to do my eyebrows. No matter where I go now, I keep cursing them while they are working on my brows.
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Go to the same barber every time and won't change. Tried another once and had a shave as well and was one of the most painful experiences ever. Mine is a Syrian and not a Turk though lol.
True and sad. Wake up man, bliss? What is the number of ur Turk? I’ll fly out to get a cut from him. If I stay for more than one month I’ll be able to cover the cost of the return flight with the savings in haircuts