The cut-price hair cut that didn’t make the cut

In a previous entry I attempted to explain the difference between a good hair cut and a bad hair cut.

I can now report the answer to be10 Euros.

It’s always a warning sign when all the hairdressers working at the salon have shaved heads. That doesn’t just happen by accident. Or rather, it probably does – that’s the point.

With a meeting on Monday for which I wanted to make a good impression, I was in need of an emergency hair cut. As could be expected, the hairdresser from last time was fully booked, so I went looking in the Marais for another one.

I don’t know why I chose this one. I only recognised the trap too late: the place was also called ‘Space Hair’, could accommodate me immediately and had a lurid purple facade.

Indeed, the cost of a ‘coiffure/massacre’ was listed as 30 euros (or 35 euros for a ‘creative style’ – and fuck dare say what that entails), but the unlisted price was that of dignity, self confidence, and my lovingly tendered hair ear flaps.

During the ten-minute ordeal, the following conversations were had:

Me: “Can you keep the length please?”

Man: “If I keep the length then I can’t cut your hair.”

(Seriously, am I paying for a service here or just lip service?)

Me: “Well what do you suggest then? It’s you that’s the expert.” (Though i was starting to doubt this.)

Man: “I don’t know. If I just take a little bit off the length, you’ll have the same hair cut as before.”

That sounded fine to me. I don’t know what went wrong, but what I ended up with was not the same haircut I’d had before. It’s always disconcerting having to tell the hair dresser “perhaps you could make the right-hand side the same length as on the left”.

People at work at least have been supportive.

Such as the business manager: “Nice hair cut…did your friend do it?”

Or “What happened to you Sam? You don’t look so good” – that was a nice first comment for Monday morning.

In times like this I thing back to my days in the police, and a sergeant who I worked alongside.

“Hey, what’s the difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut?” he asked me once when I turned up with another accidental haircut (which I did every two months).

“About two weeks,” he answered himself, chuckling like no-one else realised that his DIY black hair colour was stained on his ear lobe.

At any rate, it’s Wednesday now, which means I only haveĀ  ten days left of bad hair, and that gives plenty of time to read my favourite satirists of the moment Marieke Hardy, Ben Pobjie and Nordette.

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