I got a haircut last Friday after waiting about six months to once again go under the scissors and razor.
I don't know why I wait so long between appointments, why I let my hair get out of control and become stringy and, well, basically just reach a point of annoying. You know what I mean; that point where the universe is basically telling you that it's time for a haircut, and that time was actually, in fact, probably yesterday.
You find hairs on the shoulders of your shirt and jacket. You find hairs on the chair you sit in and the couch you lay on. And of course, you can bet dollars to donuts that you find plenty of hairs on your bed pillows.
My man, it's time for a freaking haircut already.
I've been going to the same shop for almost two years now. It's a great little spot on Miller Avenue up in Saskatoon. It fits me to a T - it's low-key, down to Earth, and they'll even fix you a drink while you wait. There's none of that pushy overselling of pricey hair products (though they do seem to have a variety), and the staff don't come at you with a 'persona' that's designed to dig for a higher tip. It's just normal, everyday people doing a normal, everyday job, and that job is cutting and styling hair for a very fair price. Needless to say, I signed right up and I haven't looked back.
I enjoy the feeling that comes with a good haircut, especially if it's been time and a half between parking your butt in the barber seat. When you wait too long between cuts, your hair almost feels like an annoying relative that you just can't seem to get rid of fast enough. "Oh, yeah, that's great, Aunt Sophia! I love that story! Now, have you seen my stun gun...?"
No, as your stylist begins to cut, shave and form your new look, you begin to feel another level of emotion. I don't want to say that you begin to feel like a new man, but I'd have to say it's about the next best thing. A new hairstyle means a new look and a new chance to possibly change things up about yourself or your style. Maybe it's time for a wardrobe update? Perhaps that stubby facial hair may as well just go bye-bye? Whatever you choose, you're doing it with a renewed confidence because, damn man, that new hairstyle's got you looking goooood!
It's funny that I've only been going to a barber consistently for a couple of years, seeing how I'm now in my late 30's. The truth is that whenever I needed a haircut before, I went to - you probably guessed it - my mom. Yep, Lynda Ruttle knew how to make me look and feel good by reducing the weight of my skull by lopping off my locks. I knew I could trust her because, after all, this was a woman who had decades of experience in cutting and styling hair.
Mom found that she was exceptionally skilled at cutting hair not long after leaving high school. She took schooling in Regina to learn all she could about the profession, and she would eventually wind up with assorted shops all over the local district. It was possible to have Lynda Dallas (she hadn't hitched her wagon to Ole Jack just yet!) cut and style your hair in the communities of Bounty, Milden, Conquest and Outlook. Apparently, the word had indeed gotten out that this girl knew how to do hair.
So, with that in mind, Mom was indeed my "go-to girl" for haircuts for an embarrasingly long time. Hey, what can I say, she knew my head and she knew what made me look good. I'm supposed to pass that up? Give me a break.
My hair history isn't a particularly interesting one full of intrigue and twisting turns, but I suppose that's the case with just about anyone, right? If I'm being honest, I never really paid any true attention to how the top of my head looked until I was in high school, when guys my age were doing all they could to appear attractive to the opposite sex. Clothes look clean? OK, good. Am I wearing deodorant? Better take a sniff....I'm good. How's my scent? Do I need to musk up? I better grab the Old Spice to be sure. OK, my hair....how's my hair? Anyone have a comb? All right, I better take this procedure into the boys room if I want to have this hair figured out before spare period is over.
I was 17 when I decided that I actually wanted to do something inventive with my hair. I'd been growing my hair out to be a fair length, roughly touching the very tips of my shoulders, and it was time to do something about it. What I wanted was the Eddie Vedder look. He's the lead singer for the rock group Pearl Jam, one of my favorite bands. If I had to describe his hair to a sketch artist, I'd say it was a mop of modest-length hair that was semi-curled in places. That's the look that I wanted, and for my 17th birthday, Mom set up a hair appointment in Outlook for me. I can still remember being picked up at my buddy Kyle's to go for my haircut, with the photo of Eddie in my hand for the stylist to study and go from there. Well, things didn't turn out that way. Apparently, I must've gotten a newbie that day who didn't want to put in that much work because all I can remember is a few basic cuts here and there and she sent me on my way.
I got in my mom's van, and she asked if that was what I wanted. I said no, that she basically didn't do anything. She marched into the salon, paid the stylist the $15 that the haircut cost, and gave her a piece of her mind. That was just who Mom was; if one of her kids was disappointed by something, she found a way to try and right a wrong. We went home, and Mom herself went to work giving me the look that I was gunning for. Mission accomplished, and I went into my Grade 11 year looking quite different up top than how I looked at the end of Grade 10. And the nice thing about getting your hair "semi-curled" is that it basically retains its shape for years afterward. Talk about value!
A haircut is about more than just watching strands fall to the floor. It can be about instilling some much-needed confidence and giving a mental booster shot to someone who may need it the most.
Thanks for the haircuts over the years, Mom. You knew just how to make a guy look and feel great.
For this week, that's been the Ruttle Report.
