Flirting With the Razor's Edge

Play "Ex Models"
by Coin-Op

Hair is a funny thing — a source of vanity for men and women alike. Some people are lucky enough to be happy with what they've got. Most of us wish we had something else.

But not me. I'm in the former category. I have, however, had some awful things done to my hair over the years.

There was the plastic butterfly-festooned Princess Leia look, a specialty of my mom's inspired whenever there was an event that required we dress up (holiday parties, picnics, school concerts).

There was the Pigtail Period, during which my mom refused to let me wear my hair down because long, loose hair was an inappropriate, unkempt look for a girl. The phase ended when my mom decided I needed a perm.

That, of course, led to the Perm Era, several years during which my hair stubbornly refused to grow after being fried, refried and wrecked by nasty-smelling chemicals that were supposed to induce wave but burned my hair and scalp instead. Truly a low point.

Since then, my hair's been lots of different lengths, but mostly I've left it long due to being too lazy and too cheap to see a stylist every six to eight weeks.

In New York, however, there's a solution for the brave: hair modeling. The good part: the haircut is free. The bad part: the stylist gets to do whatever they want to your hair (though you can always refuse).

A few months ago, I attended a go-see and was enrolled at the Bumble & bumble salon downtown — an imposing coal-black building on a cobblestone street.

Today was shearing day. The stylist, wielding a slightly scary-looking razor, took about 12 inches off. Her technique was competent but the cut itself ... well, you get what you pay for.

Next time, I'm paying.