Update: Before/After image added at the end!

The Wife ordered me to get a haircut the other day. I usually follow orders, but with this particular order, I was hesitant. You see, I hate going to barbers. I have this (somewhat unreasonable, but highly plausible) feeling that barbers are agents of an alien army, and that they are just waiting for the right time to start their war on us humans. I don’t want to be in the barber shop when this happens. You’re laughing, but I have plenty of evidence for my theory (more on that in a later post).

Anyway, so the wife was getting increasingly frustrated with me over this, and the more I resisted, the more insistent she became. Eventually, to break the deadlock, she came up with a new idea.

Wife: “Why don’t you go see a stylist?”
Me: “Eh?”
Wife: “I’ll get you an appointment at one of these upscale cutting salons. You’ll enjoy it. They’ll give you the five star treatment!”
Me: “Ohh… I don’t know…”
Wife: “I’ll take that as a ‘YES’”.

And so, she got me an appointment at ‘Javed Habib’ the next day. I resigned to me fate, thinking “How bad can it be?”

I’d obviously never been to a “stylist studio” before.

As I walked into their “shop”, the staircase was full of life sized pictures of small heads with large amounts of hair on them. Even their lounge was stuffed with magazines like “Style Today” or “Hair Haute”. Overall, they’d managed to create a overwhelming atmosphere of intimidation that was designed to keep regular people like me outside. But I had broken through! They were not going to be happy.

The receptionist greeted us. “Welcome to Javid Habib Ma’am”. She greeted the wife. Then she looked at me, unsure of what to say. “We have valet parking outside!”. Great. She thought I was the driver.

“I know. I’ll remember to tip later.”

Shock on the face of the receptionist. Disarray on the face of the wife. Confusion on my face.

Nervous laughter everywhere.

Receptionist: “Right….Heheh… This way… err… Sir?”

She led me through the studio to meet the “stylist” who was going to work on my head. This dude was something to look at.  He had a super-fancy hair style, with lots of spikes and channels running all over his head. Quite a sight.

But the minute he saw me, all the blood drained from his face. He couldn’t believe a peasant like me could show up at his fancy studio.

Stylist Dude: “Err… Sure, OK. Why don’t you sit down” he says to me. I obidiently sit down. He runs his hands through my hair, presumably trying to come up with a plan of action for my makeover.

Stylist Dude: “Do you use badam oil?”
Me: “To drink or put on my head?”

I meant it as a serious question, but he just laughed it off, thinking I was trying to be clever.

Stylist Dude: “Do you apply any gel?”
Me: “Gel?”
Stylist Dude: “Or maybe some Conditioning Serum?”
Me: “What is Serum?”

And that was too much for him. A grave expression of shock came over his face as he exclaimed “YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT SEREUM IS?!?” He stopped what he was doing, gave me a scandalized look, wondering if I were a caveman that had time travelled to the 21st century. Everyone in the studio stopped what they were doing and started staring at me.

Me: “Huh…I know what a comb is. Lets start there.”

He turned to the wife with an exasperated look. He had clearly given up on me. My wife rolled her eyes, as if saying “Look what I have to put up with everyday”, and then proceeded to talk to him directly. The two started discussing what style I should wear, whether step-cuts and swirls and asymmetrical length cuts would suit “My Look”. After several minutes of careful deliberation, they decided on a style for me. I was out of the loop for all this time, mostly looking at the ceiling trying not to make eye contact with anyone else. I didn’t understand a word of what they were saying, but it sounded like intelligent conversation to me.

After everything was decided, he got to work. For the next 45 minutes, he clipped and chopped, alternately muttering curses at my poor old barber and instructing me to “grow my side-locks another 5 mm” or “use egg yoke 5 minutes after taking a bath”. I just nodded along.

Eventually he was done. He seemed pretty happy, and the wife seemed happy too. To be fair, I was looking presentable for once. “This is good!”, I thought. That feeling, however, was short lived until he presented me with the bill, that was more than what I’d spent on shampoos and haircuts combined for the past 2 years. I reluctantly paid, and left, somewhat happy that I had got a makeover and had a swanky new hairstyle!

I must point out, however, that the style disappeared the next day, and however much I tried, I couldn’t comb my hair the way he had, and I just can’t make it look like the day before. My hairstyle is back to the state it was – uncombed and haphazard.

Update: Here’s my before and after picture!

Hairstyle BeforeAfter

Hairstyle BeforeAfter

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