The world was a mess, but his hair was perfect

Call me a poncy westerner if you will, but I quite like to have my head massaged as a minimum preparation for having my locks tended to. At the very least I expect my hair to be washed before the act of hair topiary begins. I have a very specific look for my hair that demands I spend copious amounts of time and money making it look like I spend no time and money upon it.



Quite frankly, the thought of actually roughing it in a barbers scares me shitless, so as I entered a Korean hairdressers this morning my tactic of simply saying ‘cut’ and then agreeing with everything that came out of the scissor wielding demon’s mouth had me rather nervous.

I spent some time looking for a place; at first I walked into a place called ‘The Oracle’ but he shooed me away, informing me he was eating lunch, but that I could come back later. From the name I can only assume he already knew what he was about to do would be a letdown. I ventured past ‘The Hair Doctor’ and wandered for a while before I chose the ‘Hair Shop.’ I figured if I was giving them hair, they might pay me.
As I sat down I decided to back up my instruction of cut by showing this temporary Delilah the entry for trim in my Korean dictionary. She nodded and began to talk at great length, saying a great deal more than I imagine the Korean word for trim to be, before starting the whole ordeal.

The cutting was haphazard at best, she was watching television at one stage, and I left with what looked like two haircuts, the hair she cut and the great number of hairs she decided, in her infinite wisdom, would be better left the length they were before.



Call it vain if you will, and many have done, but my hair is a great source of pride to me; when it’s cut I’m temporarily relieved, Sampson like, of my powers; powers that amount to being able to swagger down a street in a way that would make Mick Jagger wince, and not feel like a twat. And also ... well that’s it. In short when my hair is sheared I feel like a tool, even when I drop the hip swaying. Maybe I should drop the pretention of cool altogether, just don’t expect me to do that, or indeed anything unessential, in public, without a hat, anytime soon.