I always get a cheap haircut. I never know what sort of wild animal will be up there for a few weeks or months. You might have seen me with a few Standard Karens and Moe McGranddads. There is a consistency to them, so you might think it’s ‘my style’, but my hand is light on the wheel so far as what’s going on up there.
Is my Taoist routine of agreeing to the back ‘looking good’, saying “I part it on this side’ and ‘keep the sideburns’ all there is? The rest of it is all new land. The lengths, lines, fades and textures are someone else’s chaos magic. The electric cordless trimmer is winning against the comb and scissors in hair checkers. Less is more these days.
The feel is industrial, impersonal. Today I tried to not say anything at all. The power ballad “If it makes you happy” by Sheryl Crow played. I realized no one was talking, which was unusual, no one at all. The customers in the front, the stylists and the people in the barber chairs were all quiet. It was so sad and lonely being among a couple of dozen people, in a strip mall hair salon on a Saturday, who were no longer talking but soaking in the chorus and the remains. The song just conveyed everything we were experiencing at the hair salon.
Daina Darzin from Cash Box viewed it as “an appropriately plain, anthemic song with the universally-appealing hook, “if it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad”, adding, “Fans who usually shop Wal-Mart will be looking for a new record store with this one, so retailers should stock lots and lots.”
-wikipedia on Crow’s “If It Makes You Happy”
I was getting my haircut on a lot adjacent to a Wal-Mart, a company that eats small towns. As the song closed, the banter picked back up in the shop, the phone rang, the spell broke. My stylist made a remark about something which I have completely forgotten now but made me suddenly smile at the time. My hair went into the growing pile of hair located at the back by the shampoo bowls. I noticed she combed all my hair straight down with straight Moe mini bangs a-la-Lloyd in Dumb and Dumber. I immediately parted my hair with my hand, and we gave each other a thumbs up. This is the way of my people.
I paid and tipped. My son got the exact same haircut by a stylist who had the exact same haircut as my stylist. Clones went their ways.
But I had a discount wig in my car, so I put that on immediately after I started the engine. I imagine that is why I continue to gain subscribers. I highly recommend a good driving wig. With my hair cut so short I have no problem wearing the wig because it is a bit on the small size.
I look so angry with that wig on, coming at you with my giant Karen waterhead, but underneath all that weird bang action and frosted back quills is an interbeing just trying to live a best life with a minimalist haircut one might find in a faded photograph from a hundred years ago. I need time to reflect, and the wig does all the talking for me.
Pro frosted self-care tip: If you ever need some time alone, and writing on park benches with dog faeces has gotten you nowhere, try a run-over tarantula wig and deep breathing exercises.
You are here now.
Fifty State Banana 