I'm at an inner city barbers. There is no striped pole or elderly man in a white smock. I see no magazines. There is no banter about the drudgery of life or, even worse, local politics. Instead there's great music and the faint smell of exotic beard oil mixed with cigarette smoke.
I'm not cool enough to be in here. I'm barely cool enough to glance at the joint as I take a shortcut past it to my fave coffee shop, which is also far too cool for me to frequent.
The most obvious thing in here is that the barbers are all tattooed and oozing hip and I am the only female.
I'm not oozing hip. I'm oozing "unhip". If unhip could be measured, I would be off the chart. I most certainly feel completely out of place for more reasons than being plainly uncool, female, and completely devoid of ink. I'm also the only person in here over 25.
Damn it, I'm wearing Converse too and everyone else is rocking Nike. Note to self: buy a pair of Nikes before my next visit.
I'm not entirely sure how it happened. Possibly because I've been too busy raising kids, and watching the CI channel, but it would most certainly seem that "the barber" has made a triumphant return. I suppose guys want great style without paying $80 for a buzz cut.
Men don't want to go to a beauty shop and make small talk with women. I don't even imagine the occasional graze on the shoulder or head with "boobage" makes the experience any more fun. Well, maybe it does, but men in hair salons always look a little ridiculous and even more than a little uncomfortable.
Sort of how I'm feeling now in the barbers. I'm not entirely sure whether to cross my legs and where to put my hand bag. This is not a hand bag situation. You can still, on rare occasions, see a man -no ex-rugby players will be mentioned - that clearly gets their hair "frosted" and you know that didn't happen at a barbers.
I suppose some men still go to a stylist and sit in a chair with tin foil on their head, but the mere suggestion of "frosted tips" in here would probably get you picked up by your belt loops and kicked to the curb. This is a place for men who want *gasp!* their hair cut.
I'm pleased for men. I'm pleased that men have, in some mass Facebook message (for men only) vowed to put down the wine glass, pick up the beer and go back to their grandfathers' favourite haunt: The barber.
It's a place of retreat. A place where men can choose to talk and often choose not to. It celebrates being a well groomed man and it celebrates other men making that happen. It's been a great time for women to surge ahead over the past three decades, but perhaps one of the casualties is that we dragged men along with us and forced them to drink chardonnay and get their hair "styled" like some emasculated poodle. I'm all for the barber.
I'm terribly uncomfortable in my silly dress and large bulging hand bag, but grateful for the discomfort. It feels right to feel this wrong.
- nzherald.co.nz