I’ve been shaving my head for over a decade now. I remember the day I took the plunge as well as I remember yesterday.
Saturday, June 7, 1997 dawned beautiful. What was to be my last haircut was only a couple of days old. I’d been getting my ‘number one’ every few weeks and frankly, I was getting a little tired of the ritual. I called my style a ‘number one’ because of the clipper attachment used – the shortest one. The only thing that would cut shorter was no attachment at all.
Today would be the day! Nothing beats a professional straight-razor shave so I thought that having a good barber do the deed would be the way to go. I chose a nice old-style barber shop in Princeton, New Jersey. You know the kind – a row of big leather chairs with the swivels and adjustments lined up in front of the mirrored wall. The barbers, each looking as old as the chairs, in animated conversation with their customers as their fingers flew with the scissors. The smell of hair care products filled my nostrils. )I’m not sure what it is, but traditional barber shops have a smell all their own.) I smiled and picked up a magazine as I slid into a chair near the door to wait my turn.
“NEXT!” That would be me. I climbed into one of those leather beauties and faced the barber. He checked out my obviously recent ‘number one’ and looked very puzzled indeed. What did I want him to do?
I told him of my decision and asked for a nice straight-razor shave. And he refused!