One of the hardest things to do during this period of pandemic is getting a haircut. Before the health crisis, a trip to the barbershop was the least of our worries. With the enhanced community quarantine, barbershops and salons were closed and customers that need a haircut were left to their own devices. One could try to trim his own hair, but this is hard to do unless you have a third eye at the back of your head. Many would ask a housemate for help but only few would dare accept the challenge unless he is prepared to create a lifetime enemy. So, most people I know would just let the hair and the beard grow and convince themselves that they look great with their new looks.
When I was much younger before I got married, I preferred sporting long hair. This was the fad during the ’60s and the Beatle-mania years. I loved my hair to be flowing, rumpled and windblown. It gave me a sense of being easy going and independent. Few people may still recall the lyrics of “Hair’ by heart:
“Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair,
Flow it, show it,
Long as God can grow it
My hair…”
When I was young, getting a haircut was a monthly ritual with my elder brother, which my grandpa organized. The three of us would walk to the barbershop at the corner of our block after church and breakfast. The moment we stepped inside the barbershop, the owner would give my grandpa his reserved seat and hand him the newspaper. My grandpa was a big tipper and a good “dama” player. I had the same barber who attended to me until I moved to the big city to study. In those times, you don’t change your barber, just like your doctor. Since my grandpa paid the bill, he would instruct my barber to cut my hair very short. It was white sidewall with very little hair left on top. Once it’s done, I looked more like a shorn sheep and felt naked. How I wish I could absent myself in school for the next two weeks to avoid the teasing from my classmates who wear adult-look cuts. Now, I don’t tell the barber how to cut my grandsons’ hair. My eldest grandson even has the image of his favorite Korean teenybopper whose headshot he keeps in his cell phone for the barber to copy. I am more liberal when it comes to the haircut of my grandsons. Baldness runs in our family, and my policy is do whatever you like with your hair while you still have it. Don’t wait until you can count the hair on your head.
One thing I like about going to the barbershop is the chance to get to read all the tabloids you don’t have at home or in the office. You are kept updated with the latest scandals in our society and business and the hottest gossip surrounding our celebrities. Since I normally visit the barbershop in the afternoon, practically all the barbers, masseurs and manicurists, plus the hangers-on, have read the papers and the moment an interesting item is brought up, everyone can embellish the story and make it more salacious. Hearing all the comments swirling inside the barbershop on every subject under the sun, the moon and the stars, will give you more information, both factual and fictional, and make you an authority on the subject. It’s more informative than all the briefings you get from the officialdom relative to the coronavirus.
Being locked down for over two months without a haircut will make a hermit out of you, if not a minor version of the ‘King of Hairs’, Don King, the boxing promoter who sponsored the ‘Thrilla in Manila’ between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. While personal meeting is not allowed, business meetings are now conducted online or via teleconferencing. Being zoomed with your unkempt hair with all your colleagues in the board viewing your personal appearance is unsightly and distasteful. I cringed looking at my image on the screen and wondered what my colleagues thought of me, particularly the majority owners of the company. Right after the meeting, I asked my wife to cut my hair. She does not lack the training and qualification for it. She has been the hair stylish of our pet dog for years. I sat on the swivel chair and with a paper towel wrapped around my neck, she started snipping at my hair. With a blade, she straightened the hairline and shaved the sideburns. With that, I saved P300. But not my looks. After that grooming experiment, I avoided looking at the mirror. The newsboy had an impish smile as he handed me my morning papers. For the first time, I have strictly stayed home even when the quarantine has been relaxed. We must include this as the most severe form of community quarantine.
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