Why I Don't Drop $40 For a Haircut

Let it be known that I don't typically spend a lot of money for a haircut. I go to a Hair Cuttery-type place, slap down my $15 and that usually suits me just fine. There are other things I could be spending that $40 on besides a cut at a hair salon.

I've been needing a haircut for over a week, so on Tuesday after work I went to a place around the corner from my office because I wasn't going to have the chance to go to my usual place before Thanksgiving. It was a salon, but because this was likely my only opportunity to get a cut, and because I've been growing my hair out a bit and wanted to see if perhaps going to a more expensive stylist would be better than going to my barber I thought: what the heck let's give it a try.

His name was Gino. He was in his late 40's, had perfectly coiffed hair (in that sorta goomba way) and wore a lot of jewelry. The red flags went up immediately, but I was already inside with my jacket off so what could I do?

I sat in the chair and he asked me what I wanted. I told him I was growing it out, but because it hadn't been cut in a month it needed to be trimmed. Or "shaped" as he called it. It must be pointed out that Gino saw how I wore my hair (parted to the side, sideburns of a certain length, etc.) when I sat down in the chair. I point this out because it always amazes me when a stylist kinda ignores what you look like and adds his/her own... flair. But whatever.

To make a long story short: Gino washed my hair, cut it and then cut some more, then washed my hair again, then added a styling creme and then blow dried my hair while brushing, then added hairspray (who uses styling creme and hairspray?? And more importantly, what guy uses hairspray at all in this day and age???).

My hair was so poofy it looked like it should have been on top of a wedding cake. But not just any wedding cake - more like a civil union cake for two guys named Sal from Staten Island.

Apparently, when I say: "I need a trim," Gino hears: "Please make my head look like a mushroom cloud of hair."

And when he asks how I wear my hair and I say: "Parted on the side," Gino hears: "Like the Fonz."

This coif was magical in that not only did it give me big hair, it also somehow made my forehead elongated, kinda Frankenstein-esque. What was also magic was the fact that this hairdo changed the physical properties of my face to make me look exactly like Frank Stallone. I was staring into the mirror and Frank Stallone was staring back at me. (I know some of you would like to see photos, but all you need to do is look at this photo on the left. Or maybe find an old photo of Richard Marx.)

When it was over Gino asked, "What do you think?"
What I wanted to say was: "Well, Gino, I think I should be auditioning for a supporting role in Saturday Night Fever."
But instead I lied and told him: "I think it looks fine" (because really, what could I say??).

The good news is that when I got home I was able to make it look more normal (it actually isn't such a bad haircut, once I styled it myself). But now comes the uncomfortable part of calling Gino back in a few weeks to cancel the appointment I already made for next time. Any advice on how to get out of a hair appointment with a stylist you don't like but are too much of a wimp to say no to in the first place, just let me know.