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Friday, June 23, 2006

The cutter

Scientists think that there is a danger that the male species is being feminised. Estrogen, from either human waste or birth control pills being flushed away is polluting our waterways. Chemicals that mimic the effects of estrogen, such as altrazine, a herbicide, are also finding their way into our lakes and rivers. Male fish have been found with both male and female sexual organs. Both estrogen and altrazine have been detected in our drinking water and while some scientists are linking this to the high prevalence of reproductive disorders in European males, there are still doubts over whether the chemicals affect humans.

Let me tell you. They do.

It’s the only explanation I have for the reason I’m very particular about where and how I get my hair cut and why I seem to actually enjoy shopping for clothes. I don’t have the love of cars that most other men seem to share either and have no idea what a naturally aspirated engine is. I still enjoy watching football but since many women now do too, this is inconclusive evidence.

Last week, I was bound for Barcelona and the day before, prepared as ever, I realised that my hair needed cutting and I simply didn’t have a thing to wear. I’d only had my haircut twice in the last 9 months and hadn’t been that pleased with the results. To me, stylists are like dentists. A good one that inflicts the least pain is very difficult to find and when you do find one, you’ll go to great lengths to stay with them. If my old stylist in Kentish Town was still working in the same salon, I’d probably pay to go to London to get my hair cut there.

Where this vanity comes from, I don’t know. Most of the time it looks unwashed, unkempt and as if I’ve just got out of bed. And those are just the times when I’ve made an effort. Yet, I’m very fussy about who cuts it even though it looks no different than before I paid a small fortune to anyone but me. Ladies, when people fail to comment on your new hairdo, trust me, I share your pain.

So I found myself entering an alien salon, chosen mostly due to being 5 minutes walk from work rather than any recommendations. Greeted at reception, I nervously waited to meet the person I was entrusting with my hair. A figure emerged from a side room and approached me. Twenty-something, bubbly, with a large smile and dyed bright red hair, I felt a little more at ease. The red hair was a good sign. Now for the difficult part, describing exactly what I wanted.

I tried my best to explain, making pointless hand gestures and pulling at parts of my hair but it’s never that easy. I think it would be easier if I could just sit there and say ‘Create’ and they’d magically give me the perfect style.

“You know, I think it would be easier if I could just sit here and say ‘Create.’”, I inexplicably found myself saying.

“Oh, don’t worry”, she said with a grin, “we can do something with this.”

While washing my hair we got onto the subject of my job and I was surprised to discover that she enjoyed playing video games. I was also a little worried about her love of the game Manhunt, a pleasant little number where you can decapitate victims, slash throats and perform all manner of gruesome acts. It’s the tabloid press’ favourite bĂȘte noire and is wheeled out whenever a particularly grizzly murder is committed and the assailant might have played video games.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable letting you near me with scissors now.”

“Oh, I’m fine. As long as I get it all out while playing the game it’s not a problem.”

I hoped that she’d played it very recently.

As she cut my hair we drifted onto the subject of music and discovered we shared a similar taste and an even similar hatred. It all got a little competitive, with music collections, gigs, festivals and famous meetings compared and despite being 10 years older than her, I’m unsure that I actually won. No, my meeting Mike Patton, lead singer of Faith No More and her hero probably clinched it. It made a refreshing change from ‘Where are you going on holiday?’ and twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence after several further pleasantries.

It wasn't long before the wax was being applied and it was time to see the final result. All that was left was to pay up and then quickly buy some new clothes before my lunch hour was over. Twenty minutes later and £250 lighter I was heading back to the office, laden with bags but happy with my little excursion.
It's got to be something in the water.

She was right though. She could do something with my hair.

Of course, no one noticed.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Blimey. That explains a lot!

MonkeyTypes said...

I don't know if I want to ask exactly what it explains.