Behind the chair

I’ve been doing men’s hair for almost 20 years, which means I’ve spent roughly half my life standing behind a chair listening to men tell me things they probably shouldn’t be telling their barber.

And I fucking love it.

I do fades. Scissor cuts. Beards. Razor work. I can make your cowlick behave, tell you why the haircut in the picture you brought me isn’t going to work with the hair God gave you, and yes—I noticed you tried to clean up around your ears yourself.

And here’s probably my weirdest flex:

There’s a 99% chance I’ll remember your haircut after one visit.

I’ll remember how you like your neckline. Which side sticks out. That weird spot above your ear. How much weight you hate left on the sides. And that you absolutely do NOT want it “too short.”

I’ll also remember that your boss is an asshole, your ex is insane, your kid made varsity and you were thinking about buying a boat you absolutely do not need.

My brain has apparently decided this is the information worth keeping.

My studio isn’t fancy-barbershop bullshit. No weird ego. No trying to make you feel like you need to know barber terminology to explain what you want.

Sit down. Tell me what you like. Tell me what you hate. Show me a picture. Say “I don’t fucking know, just make me look good.”

I got you.

You’ll get a damn good haircut, probably laugh at something inappropriate, and somehow we’ll know entirely too much about each other’s lives by the time you leave.