I recently had my wig chopped and I must say that this is my favorite haircut but the story of my hair is a hairy, kind of awkward tale of finding just the right Barber.


This is me with my new haircut.

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This is what getting your hair cut in the '50s or something looked like.

My mom cut my hair until I was 13, although she sometimes took me to salons and Barber Shops but we were not one of those fancy families that could afford all three kids getting fancy haircuts all the time, especially because of my sister who was a cheerleader and the only girl, so most of the hair budget went in her favor.

I did not really care much about my hair until I was 13, I was that kid who showed up to Elementary School looking like I just rolled out of bed because I did, that was until I made a friend with good hair who encouraged me to not only comb my hair, but to find a good stylist.

Because my childhood friend eventually became a Lawyer I refer to him as Johnny Law, he told me that the key to a good haircut was to keep going to the same stylist so that they can get to know your head, it's some kind of unwritten law of hair.

I preferred to have a woman cut my hair, not because it reminded me of my mother, but I did not want some dude handling my head.

For the first couple of years, I tried real hard to keep the same stylist by frequenting a salon in Latham Circle Mall but I could never get the same person to cut my hair, so no one ever got to know my teenaged head. Then one time a girl gave me a really bad haircut that made me look like a little Dutch girl.

I grew my hair out and did not get it cut for about four years, before returning to Latham Circle Mall but the salon I used to get my haircut at closed, so I had to settle for the J.C. Penny salon. They cut my long hair off and put it in a bag, I was supposed to donate it 'Locks of love' but I lost it, now it is in a bag somewhere at my parents house waiting to surprise someone.

I made the J.C. Penny salon in Latham Circle Mall the place I go, to get my haircut but no one noticed so I kept getting a different person. One time a man who was on his way to New York City to be a stylist for rich people cut my hair, he had a holster strapped to his thigh where he kept all sorts of scissors and grooming tools, I was amazed by his ability to cut hair and tried to compliment him and that is how I found out he did not understand english, or at least he had no idea who Edward Scissorhands is.

Sense I was single I would always hope that the most attractive stylist in the salon would be the one to cut my hair, when I did it was glorious because it is almost impossible for there not to be accidental brushing, rubbing especially if the girl cutting my hair was short, or if they were looking for a big tip, but I think that they caught on because eventually they would always set me up with whatever guy they had working.

When I first started dating my wife, she insisted on choosing where I got my haircut and she hated the J.C. Penny salon and started taking me to a different salon every time I needed a haircut and that is when things got kind of awkward. Not only did I still enjoy having my haircut by woman, I was also self-conscious about the hair that started to grow out from my ears. What made things really awkward for me was when the woman cutting my hair knew I was enjoying it and they always know, but as they humored me and my hairy ears, my wife would be standing over their shoulder asking what kind of 'product' I should use.

Afterward I would explain to my wife how much I enjoyed getting my haircut by whichever woman I found attractive, at first she thought i really liked my haircut, but I can not help but be honest when someone is being that oblivious.

Eventually we made friends with a stylist who cut hair from her home, she was attractive but she was our friend and she often cut my hair at her parents house, with my wife and her parents watching, so I would practice being a zombie robot who gets self-conscious about their ear hair.

Now I go to Davyboii's and I like it because nothing is awkward, not even my ear hair and the guy has great taste in obscure music, his Barber Shop is across the street from Guptills so I can sit in the chair and reminisce about my childhood of falling while trying to roller skate, and that one time I went to Secrets and thought I was cool until I saw my reflection. After I get my hair cut I tell my wife that I am going to go to Secrets, she is from Albany, she went to Holy Names, she does not get it, but that has become kind of a tradition, only now I feel less creepy.